


The Rite of Spring

by Glass_Kirin



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Drama, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Internal Conflict, Original Character(s), POV Third Person, Psychology, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26631970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Kirin/pseuds/Glass_Kirin
Summary: Clara Whiting transferred to Krimson City to pursue her career in psychology, away from all of her family's drama.  But when she is offered a personal client, who isn't a patient at Beacon Mental Hospital, she finds herself caught in a web of lies, manipulation, and ethically unsound research.
Relationships: Ruben "Ruvik" Victoriano/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Part I.  Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first time actually posting a fic in YEARS. I've been bouncing this character around in my head for a while, and I think I have her polished enough to unleash upon the world.  
> Just a warning, as I know this can be a very sensitive topic: there is mention of drug abuse/addiction and alcoholism in this first chapter. It'll likely come up again later in the story, too, but it's not going to be a constant throughout. Please feel free to suggest tags to me. I'm really bad at thinking of tags. My brain is also super fried right now from work/school.

Krimson City held all the lackluster, repugnant beauty that most cities did. Upon leaving the forested countryside, that skirted itself around the metropolis like a thick, creeping moss, you were welcomed to the same skyscraper-lined enclosure, complete with smells and sounds. It may have been lovely on a nicer day, but this was not such a day. The sidewalks were dotted with umbrellas, ponchos, and raincoats, the march of citizens marred occasionally by someone who forgot any sort of protective gear, and decided to try their best to run through the crowd, so as to avoid as much drenching as possible. Traffic was full of both people who were accustomed to driving in the rain, and people who thought they were accustomed to driving in the rain, impatiently blaring their horns and screaming obscenities at the former group. If the impatient drivers had caused any accidents, they were thankfully not on the main road.

A dark blue sedan cautiously made its way among its brethren, its driver taking the time to observe people at stoplights, and making quiet notes about local businesses. She had only been to Krimson City once before, for her interview, and to review the apartment she'd be living in. The car's radio murmured its music softly, a dramatic love ballad from the eighties, which the driver half-heartedly listened to as she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. As was practical, she had turned the radio down upon entering the city limits, in order to concentrate better. As the song finished, she was quickly reminded how obnoxious the disc jockey sounded, and she wrinkled her nose, before switching the radio off entirely. The patter of the rain and the ambiance of the city became her music. It was a tune she had grown accustomed to in Boston, though a few of the notes were different, but it was the same beat through and through.

She was excited to start her new job, and get a fresh start in a new city. Boston had been her home for the past 14 years, but her past was finally starting to catch up to her. Her older brother, Joel, had gotten out of prison, or rehab, or whatever hole he’d been hiding in, and their parents were tired of catering to his habits. She wasn’t even sure how he’d found her. Maybe he’d heard it from some friends back home, or maybe their mom had slipped up and told him. Either way, he’d shown up at her job, claiming to have come in good faith. ‘A changed man’ by his words. Then he’d asked her for $100, and said he’d pay her back. He’d said the same thing to her when he’d borrowed $200 from her when she was in high school, working at the local movie theater. He’d spent it on speed and several bottles of Jack, and got busted threatening to slit a pharmacist’s throat if he didn’t drag race him.

When she’d refused to give him any money, he began harassing her almost every day, getting more and more aggressive with each denial. The authorities had been called, and she’d watched him dragged out of the hospital in handcuffs. She made damn sure that she didn’t betray any sort of emotion as she stood in the lobby. It would have given him too much satisfaction.

“You’re a fucking worthless cunt, Clara! Some fucking sister you are!” He’d yelled back at her.

She began job hunting that night, hoping to find something out of state, where she was unlikely to have any family acquaintances or friends. The chief of staff was sorry to see her go, as she’d come highly recommended from the facility she’d been interning at for her doctorate. She’d worked hard to get where she was, taking Advanced Placement courses in high school, and loading herself down each semester of college with as many courses as she could take without getting burnout. She wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of that, and if she had to move to continue her career unhindered, so be it.

For the past several years, it had been determined that Clara had a knack for dealing with patients suffering from Antisocial Personality Disorder. It wasn’t what she’d wanted to do with her psychology degree, but it’s where she’d been placed more often than not. It was a mentally and emotionally draining process for her, and she was never certain if she’d ever made any breakthroughs on her adult patients, though some of the children had shown promise. She remembered one of the mothers hugging her and thanking her, before she left Boston, because her little girl had finally said she was sorry for saying something hateful.

Beacon had seemed like a good fit for her, though she wasn’t too impressed with the facility itself when she’d flown in for her interview. The patients there seemed frightened, and she worried she was offering herself to one of those facilities that still operated like a state institution from the 20s. Yet none of the patients seemed to have any sort of injuries that weren’t self-inflicted. Their eyes were wide and nervous, though, and she’d asked Dr. Jimenez, who was doing her interview, if the hospital specialized in phobias or paranoia disorders. He denied that it did, and never spoke about it further.

As she pulled into the parking lot and found an empty space, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she stared up at the towering hospital. It looked ominous in the rain, like something you’d see out of an old thriller, and she found herself shivering the longer she stared at it.

“Let’s make the best of it, ol’ girl.” She assured herself as she collected her purse and keys, and stepped out into the rain.

By the time she got inside, her chestnut brown hair hung in dark, dripping strands around her ears and in her eyes. She tried to shake what she could off before entering the lobby, flinging droplets from her hands with frustrated whips of her arms. Heaving a sigh, she tried to press the runaway locks of hair back up into the pile she’d so neatly put together that morning. The nurses at the front desk stared at her quietly as she approached, looking her up and down with unimpressed faces.

“Hello. I’m Dr. Clara Whiting. I’m the new clinical psychologist. Dr. Jimenez is expecting me.” She breathed as she stopped in front of the desk, flashing her best smile, and painfully aware that she was dripping a small puddle onto the floor.

“I’ll let him know you’re here.” One of the nurses replied calmly, her eyes never leaving Clara’s drenched form as she picked up the receiver nearby.

Her eyes only left Clara for a moment, to dial the number, and she continued to stare at her while she waited for an answer.

“Yes, Dr. Jimenez? There’s a...young woman here to see you. She says she’s the new psychologist...I believe she said her name is Clara…?”

“Whiting.” Clara finished for her with a small smile.

“Whiting.” The nurse continued, her brow knitting. “Yes, sir. Very well. Thank you.”

The nurse hung up the receiver, and seemed to compose herself, adjusting her posture to appear more dignified.

“He’ll be down to see you shortly, Dr. Whiting. If you’d like to take a seat in our waiting area,” She gestured to the rows of seating nearby. “It will only be a few minutes.”

“Thank you...and...uh...sorry about the puddle. It’s absolutely pouring outside.” Clara gave a nervous laugh.

The nurse merely arched her eyebrow and made some blase comment about having someone come to mop it up. Clara withdrew and made her way over to one of the bench-style seats, plopping down and hanging her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the nurses staring at her, and heard them whispering. She straightened in her chair, crossing her legs, and giving the rest of the lobby her undivided attention, suddenly very uncomfortable.

As the minutes ticked by, she wondered if she’d even come to the right facility. Perhaps she remembered wrong, and there was a different Beacon? Buildings always did look so different to her in the rain; it was like seeing them from another angle or dimension. Convinced her hairdo was done for, she conceded defeat and took it down, fluffing the damp strands out with her fingers in hopes of getting some air to her drenched roots.

“Dr. Whiting?” Called a voice from across the lobby.

She turned to see the balding figure of Dr. Jimenez approaching her from the hall. She frantically stood up and met him halfway, smiling apologetically at her appearance.

“Got caught in the rain, I see.”

“Yeah. I don’t really have an umbrella in my car. Too used to parking garages, I guess.” She laughed nervously.

“Take my advice, you’ll be wanting one for the future. Rain like this is a common occurrence this time of year.” He smiled.

“Oh. I guess I didn’t realize I was moving to Seattle!”

Jimenez chuckled politely and motioned for her to follow him, heading back down the hall from whence he came. As he turned around, Clara widened her eyes and shook her head at herself, internally cursing her awkward joke-making skills.

The hospital was just as she’d remembered it, though it looked considerably more dreary now. The rain pattering against the windows reminded her suddenly of the storm in the novel, _Shutter Island_. She heard they’d made it into a movie a few years back, with Leonardo DiCaprio playing the main character, but she’d never seen it. The book had been a favorite of hers for a while, and she’d re-read it several times. She’d always loved a good mystery. Perhaps that was another reason she decided to become a psychologist. The human mind was one big puzzle, after all.

“I’ve been taking the time since your interview to read up on some of the work you’ve done. Your book about the effects of trauma on the brain was intriguing. You’ve done very impressive research. If you don’t mind, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to later.”

“Oh, well thank you! I pride myself on my research. I’ll miss having university laboratories at my disposal for that purpose, but I think this will be a good change for me. Who’s this person you want to introduce me to? A patient?” Clara watched him quietly as they turned the corner, entering a new hall leading to a set of double doors.

“Ah, no. He’s a...colleague of mine.”

“Oh, so another member of staff?”

“No, no. He’s someone I’ve worked with for many years. He’s quite the prodigy! However, there was an unfortunate incident when he was a boy that left him with severe burns on the majority of his body. He also suffered abuse at the hands of his father, so he’s very troubled, as well as maladjusted socially. Perhaps if he’d met with someone like you years ago, he might have turned out differently. However, I don’t think anyone could have predicted the person he’s become.”

Jimenez stopped, looking thoughtfully down at the ground. Clara felt the slightest hint of dread creeping into her gut.

“I wondered if you might consider taking him on as a patient...if you would be interested in studying his psychological profile.” He continued at last.

“Wow. My first day and I’m already being offered an outside patient. Do we even have a room to conduct sessions with outside patients?”

“Out of respect for his privacy and his condition, the sessions would be conducted outside the hospital, at his home. He may not like to show it, but he’s very self-conscious about his appearance.”

“So you’re saying you want me to go to the house of a man I’ve never met alone?” She emphasized the last word.

“Not alone, no. I will, of course, accompany you. Perhaps if he decides you’re trustworthy, and you’re comfortable, you can continue the sessions alone. But until then, I will be there with you.”

“He doesn’t trust outsiders.”

Jimenez nodded solemnly. Clara considered him carefully, chewing her lip. On the one hand, it was exciting to be able to study a case like this; the research she’d conducted for her book were some of her favorite studies. On the other hand, this was a weird proposition to give someone on their first day. She wondered what sort of person this man was that Jimenez thought his case to be important enough for a sort of VIP house call.

“Give me time, and I’ll be there.” She gave her head an accentuating nod.

She hadn’t expected a mansion, but she wasn’t surprised when that’s what she saw when they pulled up. The house looked old and unkempt, borderline rundown. It was still very impressive, and Clara was sure it was quite grand in its heyday. In her mind, she pictured the windows lit up and fancy European cars filling the drive, the echoes of laughter, and a string band filtering out through the door.

_A little too Great Gatsby, don’t you think?_ She asked herself, as she reigned in her imagination.

Standing on the doorstep while Jimenez rang the doorbell, she looked out over the grounds, hugging herself. The day was turning out to give her more and more thriller movie vibes. She suddenly wondered why she’d agreed to come out here after all. The door opened behind her, but she didn’t turn around just yet. Silly as it was, she was afraid to see what would greet her.

“Good afternoon, Ruben. How is your project coming?”

“Who is that?” The voice that followed Jimenez’ was low and raspy, and almost threatening.

“Yes, I was getting to that. This is Dr. Clara Whiting.” Upon being introduced, Clara finally turned around, eyebrows raised. “She’s our new clinical psychologist at the hospital.”

The man standing in the doorway was covered in bandages. The button-up shirt he wore was stained in a few places, but otherwise pristine. He glowered at Clara with yellowed, silvery eyes, the skin around them dark and sunken. Parts of his facial burns trailed out from the gauze, in areas where they couldn’t be covered without being a hindrance. He wasn’t conventionally handsome, but he did have a very dignified facial structure, with sharp cheekbones and a shapely nose. Clara was certain that, had circumstances been avoided, he would have been quite striking. Still, he had an intimidating presence.

“Dr. Whiting, this is Ruben Victoriano, the man I was telling you about.” The man’s eyes snapped to Jimenez suspiciously at hearing this information.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Victoriano.”

“Clara has done extensive research into the ways trauma affects the brain, even studying the changes in physical specimens. She comes with recommendations from some very respected psychologists. I thought perhaps you might like to talk to her. Maybe she can...help you.”

“Help me? You bring some woman here thinking she’ll what? Cure me? Make me a better person?”

“Ruben, you should at least give her a chance. She’s very capable, and I think-”

“Dr. Jimenez,” Clara interjected. “If he doesn’t want treatment, there’s no sense in trying to coerce him into it. He’s a coherent adult, and he’s allowed to make his own decisions.”

Ruben stared at her quietly and then glared at Jimenez. Clara found it an almost childlike expression of indignation. Jimenez returned his glare, and Ruben turned to her once more, making direct eye contact. He watched her expectantly, his silver eyes challenging her own iron orbs. She offered him no demand or aggression, just waiting quietly for him to come to a decision on his own.

“Have you published your research?” He asked.

“I have, yes. I also wrote a book, actually.” She replied calmly.

“Do you have a copy of this research?”

“I-”

Jimenez shoved a book into Ruben’s hands, and Clara looked at him in shock. She hadn’t even noticed him holding it. She looked to the bandaged, younger man and watched as he began thumbing through it curiously. It was a weird feeling, watching someone stand in front of you and evaluating your work. She felt like she was in school again, for a moment. She watched his shoulders relax ever so slightly, and his face took on a new look. She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like a sort of intrigue. Wordlessly, he turned and began walking back into the manor, leaving the door open as his only invitation for them to enter.

Clara gave Jimenez a sidelong glance and followed him inside, gazing around in awe at the foyer as he closed the door behind her. He ushered her along, through the open double doors at the back of the hall. She caught sight of Ruben as he entered another room at the end of the hallway they’d just walked into. They followed him into a dimly lit sitting room, daylight filtering in through the curtains. The room was finely decorated, with elegantly carved Victorian sofas, but it looked largely unused. As she sat down, a cloud of dust puffed up from the cushion, hanging in the air like a specter. The particles danced in the sunlight that broke through the crack between the moth-eaten curtains.

Ruben was sitting in a wingback armchair with his legs crossed, immersed in reading a middle section of her book. His eyes scanned over the pages quickly and he rubbed absently at his lips with one finger. He skimmed through a few more chapters before he looked up at her, closing the book sharply. He sat it on the table next to him and leaned forward expectantly.

“What is it you intend to learn from me, Dr. Whiting?” He asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

“If everything goes well, I’m hoping I can help you deal with your trauma-”

“Are you here to psychoanalyze me, or learn?” He interrupted her.

“Both.” She held her head up confidently, her tone even.

“Both?” He asked flatly.

“I can’t very well do the latter without the former.” She cocked an eyebrow at him.

He sat back in his armchair, humming thoughtfully as he stared out the window. His eyes darted down to her book, and he stared at it as though it might give him the answer he was looking for.

“What time works best for you, Dr. Whiting?” He asked quietly, staring at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Then you agree to the sessions?” Jimenez asked in surprise.

“I think Dr. Whiting and I can be useful to one another.” Ruben replied in a bored monotone, giving the older man an annoyed look.

Clara looked between the two men, not expecting this to be going so well. She felt like she was in another interview. They stared at her expectantly, and she could tell Ruben was getting more agitated the longer she stalled.

“I...can do afternoons, if that works for you?” She answered hesitantly, turning her head slowly to Jimenez for confirmation.

He nodded and she looked back at Ruben, waiting for his answer. The faintest hint of a smile curled on his lips.

“Did you have any particular time in mind, Dr. Whiting?”

“How does 5:30 sound?”

“Perfect.”

Jimenez had Clara wait in the car while he discussed Ruben's 'project' with him in private. He'd made the mistake of trying to question him about it again while she was present, and Ruben had given her a long, mistrusting stare until Jimenez suggested she go out to the car. So she sat awkwardly in her seat, staring around the grounds, feeling a little unsettled by the oppressive quiet in the car. She began bouncing her knee anxiously, picking at her purse strap. She began to wonder about her new patient. How long had he been alone? Was Dr. Jimenez his only outside contact with the world? What did he do all day? 

She became so immersed in her thoughts that she hadn't even notice Jimenez leave the house until the sound of the driver's side door opening startled her. As Jimenez got back in the car, Clara noticed Ruben watching them from the window. He looked grim and wraithlike, standing there with his bandaged face and sunken eyes. He was like a ghost from a bygone era, trapped in his grandiose, neglected manor, the only soul haunting its dismal halls. She pitied him. 

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Ruben is very protective of his research. The hospital's affiliate company is very interested in the work he's done, and the administrator has been trying to get me to convince Ruben to work for them on the project." Sighed Dr. Jimenez, agitatedly putting his key into the ignition.

"I understand. It's no trouble." She smiled weakly in response, trying to act like this information didn't send her mind buzzing with all new questions.

She looked back to the window and saw Ruben still watching them. He stared pointedly at her as they drove off, and a chill ran down her spine as she met his eyes. She quickly looked away from the mansion’s all-seeing window, staring nervously out at the scenery ahead of her. She wasn’t sure if she should be frightened or excited about this new client, though a squirming feeling in her gut told her it was definitely the former.


	2. Part I. The Augurs of Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been nearly a month since Clara moved to Krimson City and started her new job. Ruben has been mostly uncooperative during their sessions, and Clara's at her wit's end.

The pale young man stared at Clara with nervous eyes. He didn’t look like he was 7 years younger than her. In fact, if she hadn’t read his file, she would have thought he was in his late teens. He was Dr. Jimenez’ patient, but Clara had made a point of talking to him when she’d see him. Some of the patients weren’t even aware that she was there, but she liked to be friendly to the more cognisant patients, if only to let them know that there were doctors there they didn’t need to be afraid of.

After working at the hospital for a month, she still hadn’t discovered the source of the patients’ fears. She’d been keeping an eye on the rest of the staff, just to be certain there wasn’t any misconduct happening. These people suffered enough in their lives without having to be the victims of neglect or abuse from the staff.

“Hello, Leslie! Do you remember me?” She smiled softly.

He began to respond verbally, but quickly changed his mind, nodding his head instead. He looked down at his feet and clasped his hands nervously, strands of his white hair falling into his eyes.

“How are you doing today? Are you feeling okay?”

“Okay, okay....” He responded quietly.

Clara gave him a pitying look, and touched his arm lightly, causing him to look up at her with that same fearful expression. She’d been able to get more than single words out of him before, but he seemed like something was really troubling him today.

“It’s okay. Having kind of a bad day?”

Leslie nodded again, slowly dancing from foot to foot. Clara gave his arm a gentle pat and another reassuring smile.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Everybody has bad days sometimes, even me. I hope the day goes better for you.”

He lifted his head and smiled at her, revealing the chip in one of his front teeth. He reminded Clara vaguely of a Norman Rockwell painting.

“I have to go now, but you try to have a better day, okay?”

“Okay, okay, okay…” He looked a little upset that she was leaving as she turned and walked away. 

She was running behind. She was supposed to meet up with Jimenez at his car 10 minutes ago, but it had taken her longer than usual to finish up her reports for the day. She didn’t know how it had become a habit of hers, throwing caution to the wind once she was already late, but it was something she’d picked up her fifth year in college. One day she just decided, ‘I’m already late, what’s a few more minutes?’ and that phrase had stuck in her brain like a hot brand. Of course, she usually tried to be punctual, but sometimes circumstances out of her control intervened.

Arriving at Jimenez’ car, she saw him standing with his arms crossed, his mouth turned in a frown of disapproval. Clara felt a blush of shame crawl up her ears, and she avoided his eyes as she opened the passenger door.

“Sorry. My reports took longer than expected.” She mumbled, sliding into the seat.

“I’m not the one you’re going to have to apologize to for being late.” Jimenez said matter-of-factly, getting in the car after her.

She looked out the window as a way to hide the embarrassment burning in her cheeks. She hadn’t been late to any of her sessions with Ruben yet, and she wasn’t quite sure how he would respond to such a transgression.

 _Oh, don’t be silly! It’s not like he goes anywhere. Besides, what are you really missing by being late? It’s not like he’s been very cooperative during sessions._ She scowled at the passing scenery, annoyance building in her chest.

They’d had 24 sessions so far, and he’d told her little to nothing about himself. He’d rather question her about her research, even going so far as to deflect her questions when she would actually inquire about his life. She considered most of their sessions to be unproductive towards any sort of diagnosis. She was ready to tell Jimenez that she was tired of trying with him, and he’d have to find someone else. But her father had always pounded it into her head that she shouldn’t give up just because things get difficult.

_“There’s always a solution somewhere, Chickpea. Sometimes you gotta turn the whole damn thing upside down, and shake it a few times, but it’s in there.”_

Yet another one of Maurice Whiting’s Dad-isms. He was full of them. The man was smart enough to have attended Harvard, and receive high marks in every class, but had opted to go into construction instead. He also ran a little electronic repair business out of their basement, and Clara had spent many nights sat beside him on her squeaky, old stool, watching him solder wires and replace burnt out components. Every time he burned himself, or one of the ‘contraptions’ didn’t cooperate with his deft hands, he’d swear loudly. Then he’d turn to her with a shamed look and say, “Don’t tell your mother I said that.”

She smiled as she thought about the first time she repeated one of the many words her dad had said, in front of her mother.

_“What a piece of shit!”_

The chain had come off her bicycle again, and she’d thrown it down in the front lawn after walking it home for what felt like 30 miles. (It was actually less than half a mile, but when you’re 11 years old, it’s easy to make a mountain out of a molehill). Clara felt like she was old enough to say some of those words at the time. They’d used them in PG-13 movies, after all, and that was only two years away. What was a little shit here and a damn there? She didn’t think she was old enough to say ‘cocksucker’, yet. Words like that seemed a lot more grown-up than shit and damn. 

Her mother was sitting on the front porch, and when she heard Clara, she immediately jumped up and walked briskly into the house, the screen door banging shut behind her loudly. Clara could hear her yelling from the open basement window.

_“Moe Whiting! Do you know what your daughter just said?! And just where do you think she heard that word?!”_

After that, her dad wouldn’t tell her not to tell her mother that he swore, only that she wasn’t to repeat the word he used.

They arrived at the Victoriano estate around 5:45, and Clara practically leapt out of the car when Jimenez barely had it in park. She walked briskly up to the door and rang the bell, fidgeting nervously. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around, finding herself being presented with the leather portfolio that housed her legal pad. She flushed again and took it from Jimenez, gripping it tightly in both hands as she turned back towards the door. 

The door opened, and Ruben stared at her wordlessly.

“I’m sorry I’m late. There were some issues at work, and I ran behind.”

He said nothing, just stepped aside, allowing her to enter. Jimenez made to follow, and Ruben stepped back into the doorway, blocking his path. 

“I don’t think we need you here, Jimenez.” He rasped.

“Don’t be unreasonable! If you wanted to conduct sessions alone, you should have said something beforehand! How is she meant to leave when your time is up?” Jimenez replied indignantly. 

Clara had turned back around and was watching their exchange, her heart pounding in her ears. She hadn’t anticipated this, either. Yet Ruben was undeterred.

“You can come back and get her later. I don’t want you listening to our discussions.”

“Ah, Ruben,” Clara intervened, stepping back towards the door. “Dr. Jimenez is right. This really is something that should have been discussed beforehand. If you want to proceed with our sessions without him here, perhaps we can start tomorrow. It’s really inconvenient for him to have to drive all the way back out here again just to pick me up.”

“Do you really think we have _true_ confidentiality with Jimenez listening in?” Ruben snarled, his eyes snapping towards her.

Clara studied his face quietly, and finally pulled her lips taught in a hesitant grimace, turning her attention towards Jimenez.

“With all due respect, Dr. Jimenez, if you don’t mind coming back, I can give you gas money for your trouble.”

“Dr. Whiting…” He warned.

“Ruben,” She turned back to the bandaged man next to her, relaxing her expression into a calm, encouraging smile. “Do you mind if I speak to Dr. Jimenez for a minute? I’ll come back in once I’m done, and we can begin. I’ll even let you have the time we’ve already lost.”

After a few agonizing moments, he stepped aside and let her pass through the door. He shut it behind her, making sure the last few inches had enough momentum for emphasis, just so they’d know how displeased he was. Clara gave the door an agitated frown and then turned back to Jimenez. She lowered her voice to barely above a whisper as she spoke to him.

“Did something happen between the two of you yesterday?”

“What would make you think that?”

“He’s being particularly hostile and mistrusting towards you today. I’ll admit he’s relaxed quite a bit around me, but wanting the two of us to conduct the session alone isn’t a good indicator.”

“The man suffers from bouts of paranoia!”

“What on earth would he want to tell _me_ that he wouldn’t want _you_ to hear?”

“I’ll be damned if I know! Unless he’s so eager to discuss research methodology with you that-” He became quiet and contemplative then, looking off into the distance. “He’s perhaps discovered something with the project, and doesn’t want me to know about it.”

“He hasn’t told me anything about this project of his. Why would he want to discuss that?”

“Your research on trauma’s physical afflictions on the brain intrigued him. That’s the entire reason you’re still standing here in the first place.”

Clara was at a loss for words, her brain not wanting to play this game of connect-the-dots so late in the day. She just scowled indignantly, her mouth opening and closing as she searched for the words she wanted to say, and coming up short every time. Heaving an exasperated sigh, she leaned in, her eyes darting towards the door intermittently. 

“Look, this might be a really big deal. He might finally open up to me today. These past 24 sessions have all been him dodging questions about himself, and asking me questions about the damn book like some kind of newspaper columnist! If he doesn’t open up this session, I’m done. This is going nowhere, and it’s not helping him any. But today might be the day. I’ll give you gas money for coming back out, and then I’ll drive myself out here starting tomorrow.” She paused, and Jimenez glowered at her, unconvinced. “Please just let me try. You wanted me to do sessions with him, and I am. But there’s gotta be some give. If he’s not comfortable with you being here, then we’ll play his way.”

Jimenez sighed and stepped away from her, making his way back towards his car. Clara’s whole body sighed with relief.

“I’ll be back around 7.” He called from his car.

Clara looked down at her watch, and groaned. The session was going to be a whole half hour late. Clicking her tongue, she turned around and made her way back inside. As the heavy door closed, she heard the tinkling of piano keys from somewhere in the house. Cocking her head, she followed the music as quietly as she could, not wanting any other noises to break her concentration. She at last came into a room with a small, wooden stage against the wall. Atop it sat a dusty chair and sheet music stand, but the grand piano was the true star of the stage. Ruben sat at its bench, playing a beautiful, melancholic piece, his fingers dancing across the keys effortlessly. Clara couldn’t think of the name of the piece. She’d never been very big into classical music, but the song sounded familiar. What was the name of that composer her grandmother would always play on her old console? Debussy?

She waited until he was finished playing. She couldn’t bring herself to interrupt him, not with how beautiful it sounded. The song made her heart feel like early spring, or perhaps the first snow of the year. The last note of the song hung in the stillness of the room.

“I didn’t know you played.” She remarked, the quietness of her voice catching her off guard.

“You never asked. I believe you owe me half an hour of session time, Dr. Whiting.” He looked over his shoulder at her, and she nodded in agreement.

He got up from the bench and left the stage, walking past her to leave the room. She followed after him wordlessly, the phantom notes of the piano still playing in her head. Upon reaching the sitting room, he sat down in the wingback, crossing his legs and resting his hands in his lap. Clara sat across from him, unhooking the clasp of her portfolio, and pulling her pen from the loop in the spine. She pulled a case from her purse, and took a pair of reading glasses from it, putting them on before writing down the date and patient name on her legal pad. She then looked up at him expectantly.

“So how was your day, Ruben?”

“About the same as all the other days, Doctor. I woke up in pain, I’m still in pain, but that’s just what my entire existence has become.” He remarked casually, as though she’d asked him his favorite color.

“Do you do anything for your pain? Do you take any medication? Over the counter pills?”

“No.”

“Why not?” 

“It’s a reminder of everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve suffered. I see no point in masking it. It will always be there.” He leaned his head back against the chair.

“That’s a rather grim outlook on life.” It was taking every ounce of restraint within her to not start clicking her pen in excitement. 

_He’s finally talking._

“Is that what you prefer to do, Dr. Whiting? Mask your pain with pills? Does it make you happier?”

_And here we go again._

“We’re not here to talk about me, Ruben. We’re here to talk about you.”

His elbows had moved to the arms of the chair, and he’d clasped his hands in front of his face. He was toying with his lip again, brushing it across the side of his index finger as he studied her. Clara waited, looking over the top of her reading glasses at him expectantly. He stood suddenly and casually strode over to the window, staring out with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Are you here to spy on me?” He asked her, his voice dripping with suspicion.

“ _Spy_ on you? Who exactly would I be spying on you for?”

He turned from the window, staring at her scrutinizingly. Slowly, he walked over and stood in front of her, looking down with an unreadable expression.

“You really think you can help me, don’t you?” He asked quietly.

“I can try.”

“Amusing.” He went back to the window.

Clara shifted in her seat, gripping her arm as a means of keeping her frustration contained. She tilted her head at him, her brow furrowing in spite of her efforts.

“Why did you want Jimenez to leave?”

“These are _our_ sessions, are they not? I don’t see the point in him being here, listening to the things I tell you.”

“When you actually tell me anything.” Clara mumbled under her breath, her frustration finally getting the better of her.

Ruben faced her, curiosity shining in his eyes. He returned to his chair and sat down, this time leaning forward so he could watch her. She withdrew a little, her eyes darting over his face in an effort to discern his motives. His face remained unreadable, and she at last cleared her throat.

“I can’t continue our sessions if you’re not going to participate, Ruben.”

“You want me to tell you about myself...my past?”

“That would be helpful, yes.”

“Did Jimenez tell you how I was burned?”

“He didn’t give me details, no.” Her eyes locked onto him.

He began his tale, his eyes unblinking as he told it.

“I was 10. My sister, Laura, and I were playing in a barn on our father’s land. There were men who were angry that he’d been buying up all of their land, so they decided to get revenge. They set the barn on fire while we were still inside. Laura helped me crawl out through a window, but she died in the blaze.” His eyes grew distant for a minute.

Clara curbed her impulse to put a comforting hand on his arm. She blinked horrified tears from her eyes, and jotted down some notes on her legal pad.

“My father was ashamed of me. He hid me in the basement, and told my mother that Laura and I both died.” Clara continued scribbling her notes. “I stayed down there for 8 agonizing years, and then I decided that I’d had enough. He couldn’t keep me down there.”

She at last looked up at him and noticed he was shaking. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, he was staring off, an odd gleam in his eyes. Quietly, she laid her pen down and watched him.

“What happened to your parents, Ruben? You’ve never mentioned them before.”

“I killed them.” He breathed, his eyes turning on her again.

Clara had grown used to steeling herself against the horrific things her clients might confess to her. She’d had a mentor tell her once about a patient he had whose wife had run off with some boyfriend to Reno. Except, the patient confessed, that was a lie. His wife didn’t have a boyfriend, and she never went to Reno. The patient had seen her talking to one of her male coworkers, jumped to the conclusion she was cheating on him, and beat her to death with a 9 iron. Then he buried her out in the 10 miles of woods behind their house. At the time, Clara was horrified by the knowledge that she might end up having to hear a confession like that from her patients. But she'd had years to prepare for it, and now she was guarded enough to withold any kind of reaction. That didn't stop her stomach from feeling like it was full of cold, slimy swamp water.

“The papers said they died in a car crash, but that wasn’t how they really died.” He leaned back in the chair, propping his chin on his hand.

“You wanted revenge.”

“Of course I did. My own father treated me like some kind of dirty little secret, like some monster.” Ruben seethed.

Clara jotted down a note about the abuse he suffered. Her hand shook a little, and when she noticed this, she flexed it open and closed as though she’d gotten a cramp. Drawing in a deep breath through her nose, she looked back to him and found him watching her.

“Don’t worry. Just some notes about trauma. You didn’t confess intent to harm, so confidentiality states that I won’t turn you into the police.” She quickly decided to change the subject. “Why did you pick today to talk about yourself?”

A smile curled the corner of his lip, and he leaned forward again.

“I’ve learned all I wanted to know from you. It’s only fair to tell you what you want to know.”

“A fair exchange.” She forced a smile, but her insides still felt cold.

“Well, Dr. Whiting, I’ve told you about my past. It’s your turn to ask questions now.”

She asked him all of the questions that she’d been wanting to get answers to from day one. There were some he wouldn’t answer, and some which he didn’t know the answer to, but everything else he had an answer for, even if it was an answer she didn’t expect. He had no other visitors, and he spent most of his days working on his research. He wouldn’t tell her exactly how he’d been conducting it, but he did tell her that he was doing research on the human consciousness. She found herself wanting to press him about this research, as knowledge on the human consciousness was limited. There just wasn’t a suitable way to study it to get the answers you were looking for. Many people had tried over the years, but from the way Ruben talked about it, he was close to a major breakthrough.

“Do you have your research written down in a journal or something?” She asked, albeit a little too eagerly. “I’d be very interested in reading about your findings.”

Ruben eyed her warily. Even though he’d willingly opened up to her, his research was still a very sacred thing to him. Clara looked down at her lap uncomfortably.

“Sorry. I understand research is a very personal thing, especially when you’ve devoted so much of your life to it. If you don’t want to share with me, that’s perfectly fine. It’s just a very interesting subject, that’s all.” She looked up at him and smiled reassuringly.

“I don’t want them to get their hands on it.” He replied evenly.

“Them? Who is them?”

Ruben was about to reply when a car horn beeped outside. They both turned and looked at the window, and Clara looked down at her watch. 7:15.

“Maybe you can tell me tomorrow? I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today.”

Ruben gave a brief nod, and they both stood, Clara putting away her reading glasses and gathering her things. They walked together to the front door, and he opened it for her. She told him goodnight, and started to walk outside, but he caught her by the arm. She whipped around to him with a startled look. He looked her directly in the eye, and then cast a quick glance at Jimenez waiting for her in the car.

“I wouldn’t put too much trust in Jimenez if I were you.” He rumbled, then he released her arm and retreated back into the house, closing the door behind him.

She stared at the space he’d been in with a feeling of unsettlement ebbing in her chest. The words carried a very heavy weight with them for some reason, like an omen. She walked slowly to the car, and only gave Jimenez a quick half-smile when he greeted her.

She laid in bed that night, thinking about what Ruben had said. She hadn’t bothered to turn her bedside lamp off. She’d tried to read, but she couldn’t concentrate. His words kept repeating over and over until her brain fell into the oblivion of sleep.

_I wouldn’t put too much trust in Jimenez._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be writing the outline for my paper right now, but here's chapter 2 instead. Hahahaha...god I'm so stressed out. :')  
> Anyway, more to come soon!


	3. Part I. Ritual of Abduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and Ruben grow closer, but she's torn about the ethical conflict of the relationship.

Fall had settled in fully, and the weather swung between pleasantly crisp to bitingly cold. It seemed like it rained every other day, leaving the air thick with the smell of wet leaf decay and earth. Stoops and windows were decorated with pumpkins and gourds, some even decorated for Halloween early. 

Clara was loath to leave the warmth of her car in the mornings. She detested the cold. She always huddled as far into her coat and scarf as she could when she went outside, her eyes and hat the only things visible above the mound of knitted material poking from the collar of her coat. Even now, as she finished her group session, the gloom outside made her shiver. She hurried to her office, and bundled up as quickly as she could, the warmth of the building making her sweat.

When she got on the elevator, she was met by a familiar face. One of the behavioral therapists, Janine Carlisle, had become a very good friend. Janine was outgoing, and always ready to speak her mind. This often got her into trouble, as her manner was often viewed as unprofessional, and her mouth was no small contributor to that.

“Hey, hey! You going hiking in the woods or what?” Janine gave her a lopsided grin. “Got a hot date maybe?”

“I’m going to my 5:30 appointment.” Clara smiled, rolling her eyes.

“Appointment? No shit! You have an outside client? A house call?”

“Yep!”

Janine’s brown eyes narrowed suspiciously, a sly grin spreading across her face.

“This is some kind of code, isn’t it? You actually do have a date.”

“I don’t have a date!” Clara laughed incredulously. A blush was beginning to rise in her cheeks.

“Okay, okay. Just let me know how good they were Monday.”

“Whatever.”

They stood in amused silence until the elevator doors opened up to the lobby. They said their goodbyes and Clara waved her off as Janine made the gesture for a blowjob. The dark-haired woman cackled as she made her way down another hallway, and Clara left the building, bracing herself against the chill of the early October air.

Her sessions with Ruben had been going well. Half of their time together ended up being devoted to discussing psychological theories and processes. She loved posing questions to him and listening to him work his way through the answer carefully, every bit of his reasoning explained thoroughly. He’d begun to have tea ready for her when she arrived, after he found out that she was partial to Jasmine tea. 

He’d explained more to her about Beacon’s affiliate, MOBIUS, and how they were interested in his research. Clara hadn’t realized the hospital had such a strong tie to research and experimentation. It made more sense to her now why she’d been hired so quickly. Ruben had a strong apprehension towards the prospect of working with them. He wouldn’t explain his exact reasoning, but Clara wondered if it had something to do with his appearance.

Jimenez had been right, Ruben was  _ very _ self-conscious about his appearance. He’d worn a very lovely wine-colored shirt one day, and she’d complimented him on it.

_ “You look very nice!” _

He’d gone very quiet, his eyes wide and questioning. It had taken her 20 minutes to get him comfortable with her again, and he avoided discussing it further. However, she noticed that he avoided looking at her the rest of the session, even going so far as to position himself so she couldn’t see his face.

  
  


She arrived a little early, and danced around in the cold after ringing the doorbell. The minutes began ticking by, and there was still no answer. She began to shiver, and tried the bell again, her teeth chattering as she hugged herself. Still no answer. She looked down at her watch, and it read 5:37. She knocked loudly, her fist stinging as she pounded it against the solid wood.

“Come on, Ruben, I’m freezing my ass off.” She said aloud.

Anxiety was building in the pit of her stomach, twisting it into knots. It wasn’t like him not to answer the door. Hesitantly, she reached out her hand and tried the knob. It turned easily, and she pulled her hand back like it had burned her. Biting her lip, she turned the knob again and slowly opened the door, peeking inside as she did so. 

The house was still, which only made the knots in her stomach worse.

“Ruben?” She called, her voice echoing in the foyer.

She carefully stepped inside, gently closing the door behind her. She listened as she walked, hoping to hear the piano or any other sign that Ruben was somewhere in the house. She was met with only a discomforting silence that set her feet into quickened, panicked steps. She breathed a sigh of relief as she reached the sitting room.

Ruben was seated next to the window, staring down at the floor with a faraway look in his eyes. Clara frowned as she noticed how haphazardly his bandages had been wrapped. They looked like they might fall loose at any moment. She walked forward quietly, unshouldering her purse and setting it down on the couch, along with her portfolio. She squatted next to his chair, and looked up at him, noticing the quiver in his lip.

“Hey...hey...what’s going on? This isn’t like you. Did something happen?” She whispered soothingly. 

“I dreamt of her last night…” He said so softly she could barely hear him.

“Laura?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, his brow creasing. Clara rested her chin on the arm of the chair.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it today. Would you like me to go?”

“Please don’t go.” He suddenly looked at her, his eyes glossy.

She saw the desperate, haunted eyes of a frightened boy, looking for any last shreds of safety he could hope to find in the world. She touched his arm, and nodded slowly.

“Okay. Do you want some tea?”

He gave a brief nod, and she smiled, giving her own nod in return. She stood and went to the kitchen, giving the cabinets an uncertain look. She’d only been in the kitchen a couple of times, and she wasn’t certain where everything was yet. After a few peeks in various cabinets, she finally found the tea and put the kettle on. 

Turning away from the stove, she was met with the sight of Ruben sitting at the small kitchen table. She gave a gasp of surprise, and stepped back against the stove, bumping the kettle with her arm. His eyes moved over her questioningly. 

“Sorry. You just scared me.” She stammered, walking awkwardly over to the table. 

She sat down catty-corner to him, placing her elbows on the table and pressing her mouth to her clasped hands. They studied each other in solemn silence until Ruben finally looked away from her. Her heart sank a little. 

“Do you want to conduct our session today?” She asked. 

“No...I just want…”

“Company?”

He refused to answer her, staring at the floor with his mouth in a taut line. The kettle began to whistle and Clara slowly got up, watching him carefully before turning to prepare their tea. As she was pouring the steaming water into the cups, Ruben finally spoke. 

“I like having you here.” Clara looked up from the cups, staring at the cupboard in front of her, her mind suddenly going fuzzy. 

Composing herself, she bit back a smile and brought the cups to the table, setting them down gingerly. She crossed her arms as she sat down and looked up at Ruben shyly. She sighed, shaking her head and pretending to wipe something off the table with her finger so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. 

“We really should rewrap your bandages.” She remarked, flashing him a quick glance. 

He looked away from her, seeming to fold in on himself. Clara looked at him fully, her face betraying her worry. 

“I understand you’re having a bad time of things today, but it’s really important to take care of yourself properly.” She kept her voice calm, but made sure to emphasize her point by nodding her head. “Are you uncomfortable with me seeing you without your bandages?”

“It’s a lot worse than you think.” He murmured. 

“I’m not scared.” Her words came out a little more sassy than she would have liked, and she gave a quick, embarrassed glance down at the table. 

He looked at her hesitantly, his eyes full of worry, then he reached up and began to unravel the gauze covering his head and face. Clara watched as more and more of his face became visible, holding her breath. The deep, ruddy flesh on the right side of his face was heavily scarred. As more of the bandage came away, she began to see the mangled form of his right ear. Ruben placed the rolled gauze on the table when he was finished, not meeting her eye. 

“Oh, Ruben…” She whispered. “I’m so sorry. You must be in so much pain.”

It was very clear that he’d suffered third, maybe even fourth-degree burns during the fire. Her eyes trailed down to his neck, and she wondered if there were areas that were worse. When she made eye contact with him, he winced. 

“Is the rest of your body-?” She stopped herself, realizing how insensitive her question was. 

“I told you it was worse than you thought.”

Clara reached for the roll of gauze and stood up, moving in front of him. He stared up at her meekly and finally nodded his consent for her to begin. As she wrapped, she paused occasionally to ask him if she was wrapping too tightly. Ruben watched her with fascination, not wanting to take his eyes from her in case she disappeared. 

When she finished, she tucked the end in gently and smiled down at him. 

“There we go. Much better!”

Her hand lingered on his cheek, and a stillness sat between them. Their eyes were locked in a long stare that dragged on longer than it should have. It was the kind of stare that filled your chest with embers and wild vines. Clara pulled away and quickly sat down again. Picking her teacup up, she sipped it and avoided his gaze. 

He blinked as he looked down slowly, picking up his own cup. He stared into the amber liquid in quiet contemplation before taking a sip. 

“No one’s ever touched me that way before.” He said quietly. 

“I’m sorry. That was very inappropriate.” Clara quickly apologized, her face flushing until it felt like her ears might catch fire. 

“Because I’m your patient?”

“Yes.”

She jumped as his hand touched hers, watching with fearful eyes as his fingers brushed over the skin on the back of her hand and down to her fingertips. His eyes followed the lazy trails he made along her skin, as though mesmerized. With one final stroke down her fingers, he withdrew his hand, staring at hers as though he could see the intricate pattern he had traced there. Clara was frozen in shock at the suddenness of such an intimate gesture, not expecting it from such a reserved man. Impulse pushed logic aside for the moment, and she turned her head curiously.

“Ruben, have you...have you ever been in a relationship? Like a romantic relationship?” She questioned hesitantly, her curiosity piqued.

“No.” His hand trailed up his arm, as though he were subconsciously feeling along every bit of scar tissue that marred it.

“So you’ve never kissed anyone, or…?”

He merely stared at her in response, and she looked away, nodding enthusiastically. That was answer enough. She shifted in her chair uncomfortably, clearing her throat. Her mind was racing, fighting through an internal debate that she knew shouldn’t have even been happening. She admitted that his intellect attracted her; physical appearance was such a superficial thing. Although she did still think he had a very handsome facial structure.

_ He is your  _ **_patient_ ** _.  _ Said Logic.

_ Who would even know? _ Said Curiosity.

“Why would you ask that?” His voice made her start.

“It’s just that I find it hard to believe someone as handsome as you wouldn’t have ever kissed anyone.” Damn her tongue.

His head raised slightly in surprise.

“Are you flirting with me, Dr. Whiting?”

“No.”  _ Liar. _ “Not at all. I’m just saying you’re very attractive, despite your scars.”

_ Keep digging yourself that hole, Clara. _

“You’re making a lot of comments about my appearance.” He leaned towards her. 

_ Shit, shit, shit. _

Her heart was hammering in her chest. She could hear it in her ears, thundering like war drums. A lump had formed in her throat, and she tried to swallow it down. It made her throat feel raw. She’d always avoided situations like this, even when she’d had conventionally attractive patients. Those patients didn’t have the magnetism that Ruben had. 

“I…” She didn’t know what she should say to him. She’d already revealed her cards, there was no bluffing now.

“Do you really find me attractive? Or do you just feel obligated to give me empty compliments?” He leaned closer and Clara found herself unmoving, when she should have retreated from him. 

“They...They’re not just empty compliments.” She whispered. 

“I thought so.” He moved closer until his face was mere inches from hers.

Clara flinched as his hand came to rest on her face, his thumb tracing down her jaw. Her breath hitched as he ran his hand down her neck, his eyes drifting lazily from her lips to her own unfocused eyes. Her brain was full of static. 

“Ruben, we shouldn’t…” She breathed halfheartedly, her eyelids fluttering as he closed the distance between them. 

“Why shouldn’t we?” He murmured, his breath warm against her face. 

He looked at her from half-lidded eyes, his hand brushing around to the back of her head to tangle in her hair. There was a hunger in his eyes, but also hesitation. When she met them, the last remnants of her restraint faltered. His nose brushed hers and her hand clenched his arm in response. 

“It’s not…” But that’s where her logic lost its battle, and she succumbed to her feelings of curiosity. 

Her eyes closed and she kissed him, gasping as he tightly gripped a handful of her hair. His mouth was inexperienced and somewhat clumsy, but he was quick to pick up how her mouth moved against his. He held her in place firmly, his balled fist pressed against the back of her skull, still holding onto her hair. As he broke away from her, panting heavily, his eyes danced over her face. She was dizzy and trembling, but she met his lips willingly when he gave her two more quick kisses. 

“Will you stay?” He asked, his voice hoarse and breathy. 

The realization of what he was asking snapped her from her daze, and she withdrew quickly, her face red. 

“That’s too soon.” She croaked, subconsciously smoothing the back of her hair down. Her fingers met small tangles around the base of her skull. 

She downed the rest of her tea hurriedly and scurried over to the sink to wash her cup. Leaning on the sink, she sighed heavily, trying to compose herself. Ruben came up behind her and loomed over her shoulder, his fingers caressing small strokes up and down her arms. 

“What are you trying to get from this, Ruben?” She asked him quietly, staring into the drain. 

“ _ Get _ from it? Do you think I’m using this as a means of manipulating you?”

“It’s a possibility.” She sighed. “We shouldn’t even go any further with this. It’s highly unethical.”

“Do you think your ‘treatment’ has helped me at all?”

She turned around to face him, scowling defensively. His face was calm. 

“What?” She hissed. 

“I want to hear your professional opinion. Don’t think I haven’t picked up on this savior complex you have. The truth is that you can’t save everyone. So tell me, as a psychologist, do you think these past 96 sessions have done any good?”

Clara looked uncomfortably around the kitchen. She’d had to drop patients before when she formed the opinion that she would be unable to help them, and they should seek a different therapist. It was never an easy thing to do. She always felt like she failed them, and she was sure it made them feel like maybe they were beyond help. If she was being honest with herself, she really didn’t feel as though she were helping Ruben. He’d opened up to her, they’d built trust, but he was still struggling with his disorders. 

“Ruben, I don’t think I’m a good fit for you.” She stated calmly. “I think there’s a conflict of interest here, and if you wish to continue treatment, you should do so with another therapist.”

“That settles it, then. You’re no longer treating me.” 

He moved in to kiss her again, but she stopped him. 

“Wait. I have to talk to Dr. Jimenez. He was the one who requested that I treat you.”

“I’ll talk to Jimenez.”

She studied him with apprehension before nodding, a sour look on her face. He embraced her slowly, nestling his face in her hair, and she cautiously returned his hold, cradling his head in a comforting manner. 

“I wish you’d stay.” He mumbled into her hair. 

“I can’t.”

“You smell like lilacs…”

Clara’s chest hurt. She was torn about the situation she’d gotten herself into. If Ruben had been any other client, she would have lost her job and her license the moment anyone found out. Dual relationships just didn’t fly with current or recent patients. It was considered an abuse of power dynamics that could lead to harm or exploitation of the patient. Jimenez was the only one who knew that she was treating him, but she had no doubts that he would turn her into the board. The fear and anxiety built up to a crescendo inside of her, seeking an outlet to be released from.  


“What if he reports me to the board and I lose my job?” She whimpered, trying to fight back tears. 

“He doesn’t have to know. No one does. Just us.” He began kissing down the side of her face. “It’s ours.”

He pressed her against the counter, capturing her lips, but she gently pushed him away. 

“I don’t want this to escalate further today. This is...a lot for me to process already. I would really appreciate it if you would respect that.”

He stood quietly for a moment, then lowered his eyes and stepped aside, allowing her to move away from the counter. She cast an apologetic glance towards him as she passed. Turning to face him, she laced her fingers together nervously. 

“I think I should go. If you need anything, let me know. I can leave you my personal number.”

She walked hastily back to the sitting room and grabbed her portfolio. Opening it up, she jotted down her cell number on a pad of sticky notes she kept in the front. Tearing it off the top, she turned and gasped when she discovered Ruben standing behind her. She cleared her throat and handed him the sticky note, which he studied like she’d just handed him a code that needed to be deciphered. Clara began gathering her things and stopped as she passed him.

“Don’t hesitate to call. I have work in the morning, but I’ll answer if you need me.”

“I’m not your patient anymore.” He said, his voice confused.

“No, but it’s what you do when you care about someone. If you have another bad night, maybe I can help, even if you just need someone to talk to.”

She stared at him quietly for a few minutes and then began walking to the front door. Before she opened it, Ruben grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him, holding her tightly. It was another gesture to try to make her stay. She rubbed his back gently, but still pulled away. He was very reluctant to let her go.

“I promise I’ll be back.” She said softly.

He watched her leave, his eyes unfocused, and his mouth set in a disapproving frown.

  
  


To her surprise, Ruben didn’t call that night. She half expected him to blow up her phone, calling her every other hour. But nothing, not even any missed calls. She kept checking her phone throughout the day, getting worried about Ruben’s mental state. She wondered when he planned on talking to Jiminez, and what he even planned to say. She wondered if Jimenez would be suspicious, and if he’d question her.

She was checking her phone again, focused intently on the screen, when she ran into someone in the hall. It knocked her back a couple of steps, and she quickly looked up apologetically, worried she’d run into a patient.

“Oh god, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?” 

The man in front of her was clean shaven, with a square jaw, and wearing a finely tailored suit. His hair was slicked down, and he had very intense eyes. He smiled at her, and Clara felt very unnerved.

“You must be Dr. Whiting. Dr. Jimenez has told me a lot about you.” He extended his hand to her, and she shook it hesitantly.

“Yes...I am. I don’t believe we’ve met?” She cocked her head in confusion.

“We haven’t, no. I’m the executive administrator for MOBIUS-”

“Beacon’s affiliate!” Clara exclaimed at the realization.

“Yes. Dr. Jimenez tells me you’ve been attempting to treat Ruben Victoriano.”

Her throat tightened, but she nodded slowly.

“We’re very interested in his work. Our organization is focused on psychological advancement, and Mr. Victoriano has made some strong headway on the human consciousness.”

“I don’t think he’s interested in sharing his research.” Clara laughed nervously.

The man’s face fell, his eyes studying her coldly, and then he put on a nasty, disingenuous smile. It made her queasy. 

“We’ll talk later, Dr. Whiting. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.” The man walked past her.

Clara turned to watch him, her stomach clenched tightly.

“I don’t believe I caught your name!” She called to him.

“No, you didn’t.” He answered, continuing to walk down the hall.

Clara wasn’t sure she trusted MOBIUS or Jimenez. She knew very little about the hospital’s affiliate company, and her exchange with the administrator did very little to boost her confidence in them. She continued on her way, her mind plagued with suspicions. It seemed she would have to tread carefully at work. She wasn’t sure what the intentions of this administrator were, but she didn’t have a good feeling about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be smut in the next chapter. There will probably be smut in the next chapter. There's going to be smut in the next chapter. It's inevitable.


	4. Part I. Spring Rounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara is called away from a work event for what she thinks is an emergency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Yes, this is the smut chapter. Probably not the only smut chapter, but here it is. Sorry if it's hot garbage and/or rushed for actual plot.

A holiday gala was being held to raise money for the hospital. Clara had been told it was one of the best ways to get donations, and that she was expected to be there, despite her objections that she felt like she was being paraded about like a prized show pony. She’d gone to two galas in her career, and she’d hated both of them. It was just a bunch of rich people in suits and gowns, strutting around and looking down their noses at people who worked hard to be where they were. Then there were all the sleazy men who propositioned her, and the ones who tried to blackmail her into going on a date with them in exchange for a donation. Overall, she’d rate the experience at about a 4 out of 10, and wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.

She’d told Ruben the day before that she wouldn’t be able to come over that evening, and he’d only protested a little. He seemed very busy with his project these days, the dark circles around his eyes seeming deeper than usual. He’d also become irritable, snapping at her if he was going over his notes and she asked him a question. She tried to be understanding, but it was a little rude, especially since he never apologized for being curt with her.

She was putting on her lipstick in the mirror when her phone rang. Glancing down at it, she huffed, smearing her lips together a final time. She answered the call, putting it on speaker so she could continue getting ready.

“Hello?”

“You’re late.” Came Ruben’s voice, annoyed and gravelly.

She gave the phone a disbelieving, blank stare, and sighed, rolling her eyes as she dug through her makeup drawer.

“You evidently weren’t listening when I told you I had a work event tonight, and wouldn’t be coming over today.” She replied snarkily, being careful not to poke herself in the eye with the mascara wand.

He hummed in aggravation, followed by the sound of rustling.

“I knew I should have been more suspicious when you didn’t make a bigger fuss. I’ll be over tomorrow.” 

“What is this event?”

“It’s a gala to raise funds for the hospital. I didn’t want to go, but I’m expected to be there to convince the well-to-do that we’re deserving of their money.” 

“So don’t go.” More rustling.

“I have to, unfortunately. Hey, what are you doing right now? I’m getting a lot of noise from your end.”

“Working.”

Clara smiled and closed the makeup drawer, sighing at her appearance. It would have to do. She adjusted the top of her blue dress, pulling it up in an attempt to cover more of her breasts.

“Okay, well I have to go now. Would you like me to call you when I get home?”

“I’ll likely be busy. Just come over tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomo-”

Ruben had already hung up. Clara closed her mouth, and harrumphed, swiping the phone off the counter and shoving it into her clutch.

Clara had been nursing a glass of champagne all evening, wandering around the ballroom that had been reserved for the event, and trying to avoid as many rich people as possible. It had become a little game for her. So far she’d avoided meeting at least 10. She mostly stuck to talking to her colleagues, and getting into debates about who had the worst professors in college.

She was watching the room when Janine came up beside her, holding a glass of wine. She nestled up to Clara like she was getting ready to discuss something secret.

“Enjoying yourself?” She asked with a wide grin.

“I’m enjoying avoiding as many of these vultures as I can.”

“I hear that! Some guy tried to impress me by telling me how sexy my pixie cut was, and that it reminded him of Peter Pan or some shit.”

“Stop! He didn’t!” Clara gasped, breaking out in her own grin.

“Dude was super drunk.”

Clara’s phone began ringing. Her face fell, and she looked down at her clutch in confusion. Fishing it out, she looked at the name, and then looked up at Janine.

“Hey I gotta take this real quick.”

“No problem!”

Clara hurried off to a quieter section of the room, answering the phone, and plugging her other ear with her finger so she could hear better.

“Ruben? Is everything alright?”

“Need...come over…”

“What’s that? I can’t really hear you, honey. There’s a lot of noise in here.” Clara strained, moving closer towards the wall.

“I need you.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Please…”

“Okay...just hold on, and I’ll be right over.”

She ended the call and looked around for Janine. Spotting her over by the drink table, she hurried up to her. The dark-haired woman gave her a concerned look, placing a hand on her arm. 

“Hey! Is everything okay?” Her trademark grin fell when she noticed the worried look on Clara's face.

“Something’s come up, and I gotta go. Can you cover for me?”

“Absolutely! You go!”

Clara thanked her, and hurried out of the ballroom, only stopping to pick up her jacket from the coat check. She was trying not to panic. What could be wrong? Had it been another hallucination of Laura? Did he have another bad seizure? Had he hurt himself? She almost broke one of her heels running out to her car, and nearly slipped several times.

She forced herself to drive carefully, taking her foot off the pedal everytime she caught herself exceeding the speed limit. Every minute ticked by like hours, and with them her anxiety increased. Her car fishtailed every now and then, and she had to calmly correct it. When she finally pulled up to the estate, she parked directly in front of the main doors, frantically throwing her car into park, and fumbling to get her seatbelt off.

She hurried to the doors, the light snowfall of the day crunching beneath her feet. Throwing one of the oak doors open with no hesitation, she began breathlessly searching around the hall. She called for Ruben, and walked briskly through the main hall, her heels clicking against the floor. She heard her name from above, and looked up. Ruben stood at the railing of the mezzanine, looking at her with wide eyes. She wheeled around and headed towards one of the staircases, lifting the skirt of her dress to hurry up the steps. He met her at the top, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Clara panted, wrapping her arms around him protectively.

“Nothing’s happened. I just wanted to see you.” He rumbled.

He broke from her with a smirk and she stared at him with disbelief. Her anxiety was replaced with anger. She pulled away from him, walking a short ways away with her hands on her head. She reeled on him with an indignant expression.

“Are you  _ fucking _ kidding me? I thought you were hurt or having an episode! You scared the hell out of me!”

He watched her tirade with an unamused glower. He approached her carefully, looking down at her clothes. Curiosity flowed in his eyes, and he gently grabbed the lapels of her jacket, peeling the black, wool garment off her shoulders. She stared up at him uncertainly, the annoyance still evident on her face. He dropped it on the floor and took in her appearance, admiring the way her gown fit her. His hands ran up her sides, feeling the cool of the fabric. Clara scowled.

“Ruben! This isn’t okay! You made me think there was an emergency to get me to come out here.” She chided him. 

“Did I specifically say it was an emergency?” He purred, not meeting her eyes, but traveling over her shoulders.

“No, but you sounded upset!” 

He caught her by the chin suddenly, staring into her eyes with a smirk. He placed his hand on her waist and pulled her closer to him, making her gasp.

“I am upset.” He mused. “My darling Clara abandoned me for the evening to go to a formal party that she didn’t even  _ want _ to attend.”

His hand left her chin and trailed down her arm, clasping hers firmly. He pulled her away from her discarded coat and began leading her in a slow waltz. She fumbled at first, not sure what he was doing, but then began to follow.

“So of course I had to think of how to bring you back to me. Aren’t you happy to be away from the gala?”

Clara didn’t answer him, looking away stubbornly. He stopped dancing and pulled her closer, making her look back up at him. Leaning in close, his lips whispered across hers.

“You look beautiful, Clara...and to think you wanted to keep such a vision from me. I’m hurt.”

He pressed his lips to hers and the sensation drowned out her feelings of anger. She pressed against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Breaking from her, he began planting kisses down her neck, his mouth moving hungrily. His fingers dug into her hips, hard enough to bruise, bunching the fabric of her dress. He began pushing her backward until he had her pressed against the wall. Clara inhaled sharply as her back hit the wall, her hands moving up to grip Ruben’s shoulders. He groaned against her shoulder, leaving bites along her exposed skin. 

“You didn’t have me come out here because you’re horny did you?” Clara panted, noticing the bulge pressing against her. 

Some of her earlier annoyance was trickling back into her mind, seeping into her voice. She was still upset that he’d tricked her into driving all the way out to his house in the dark and the snow. However, if she had to choose between some other rich asshole trying to get into her pants or Ruben taking her like a wanton animal, she preferred the thought of the latter. 

One of her hands left his shoulder and trailed down his chest, experimentally cupping his groin. He made a loud, keening sound and buried his face into her shoulder, gripping her hips tighter. She bit back a giggle, keeping her hand in place but gripping a little tighter. 

“Oh dear. You  _ are  _ desperate, aren’t you?” She murmured, nuzzling against his head. 

He took a shaky breath as he pressed into her hand, rolling his hips a little unsurely. She rubbed her hand down the outline of his shaft, eliciting more noises from him. She gasped in surprise as he suddenly grabbed her wrist roughly. He looked into her eyes, his pupils dilated, his irises a thin, silver ring that reminded Clara of an eclipse. She looked at him questioningly, and he smashed his lips against hers before pulling away and practically dragging her towards a set of double doors. 

She wondered where he was taking her, more than a little disappointed that he wasn’t just going to have her up against the wall. When he led her into a bedroom that looked relatively unused, she began looking around. She’d never been upstairs before. This was all new territory to her. Ruben flipped a switch on the wall, and the room lit up with a few wall sconces, casting most of the room in shadow. 

He took her hands in his and led her slowly over to the bed, staring into her eyes. 

“This is my room.” He told her softly. 

It was as if he was showing her a secret, some hidden, special place no one else had seen. The only things that showed any sign of use were the bed, and a wardrobe against the far wall. Clara took it all in a little impatiently, her eyes darting back to him expectantly. He leaned into her and placed a delicate kiss on her neck, nuzzling the spot he kissed. 

“I need you.” He breathed in her ear. 

His hands wandered up her back until he found the pull of her zipper, unzipping her dress agonizingly slow until he reached the end. Running his hands up her arms, he gripped above the off-the-shoulder straps of her dress and pushed them down, pulling the rest of her dress with them. The blue chiffon pooled around her feet, leaving her in only a pair of black panties. 

Clara shivered as the cool air hit her skin, and she stood still as Ruben’s eyes wandered over her. His hands soon followed, exploring every inch of her bisque flesh with fascination. She gasped when his fingers brushed across her breasts, goose flesh crawling up her arms. 

“Exquisite.” Ruben murmured quietly, his voice thick with desire.

He began his barrage of kisses across her skin once more, slowly turning her around and sitting her on the edge of the bed. He reached down and removed her shoes, tossing them to the side and running his hands up her legs as he pushed her onto her back. He froze when her hand caught the gauze on his face, pulling loose the end. He met Clara’s eyes cautiously, his lips hovering above her sternum. 

“I want to see you.” She said gently. “If I’m going to expose myself completely, I want you to expose yourself, too.”

He hesitated, glancing down at his own body, and then back to her. She caressed his cheek, smiling softly. 

“I’ve already seen your face, Ruben. Will you let me see the rest?”

After a long, internal struggle, he finally nodded. Standing up, he unbuttoned his shirt, slowly revealing his bandaged chest underneath. Clara watched him undress quietly, sitting up with her hands in her lap. His erection tented his boxers, a small stain of precum forming where his tip pressed against the front. Clara stared at it, transfixed as it twitched against the white cotton. 

Brushing it with her hand as she stood, she gave a small smile of satisfaction. 

“Let me help you.” She whispered. 

Together, they began removing the gauze covering his body. Clara thought maybe she was unwinding it a little too eagerly. She ached for him, her wetness having soaked through her panties and smearing on her thighs. 

As the last bandage came away, she fell still, looking over his body. Ruben refused to look at her, the discomfort evident on his face. Clara looked up at him and stepped forward, cupping his face and turning his head to look at her. He was ashamed. 

“Don’t worry about it.” She whispered. “It doesn’t change my mind. I still want this. What happened to you isn’t your fault. Don’t be embarrassed.”

She began placing kisses across his scars, making her way down his body as she did. She lowered herself to her knees in front of him, and pulled down the waistband of his boxers, freeing his cock. She marveled at it as she pulled his boxers the rest of the way down. She was quick to wrap her hand around it. Ruben watched her, his chest heaving. 

When she took him into her mouth, a groan caught in his throat. As she went further, his knees nearly buckled, and he grabbed a handful of her hair. She pulled away and smiled up at him and placed a kiss on his tip. 

“Too much?” She asked with a grin. 

“M-Maybe…”

“Hm. Maybe we’ll try that another time.” She took the head in her mouth one final time before rising to her feet. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her forehead against his, relishing in the heat of his cock pressed against her stomach. He stared into her eyes questioningly, as though he were waiting for direction. 

“We wouldn’t want you to finish before we get to the main event, would we?” She teased. 

He kissed her roughly, pushing her back onto the bed, and straddling her. She was surprised at how quickly his demeanor changed. Perhaps she’d turned a light on for him, reminded him of what they were originally setting out to do. She’d never been with someone as inexperienced as Ruben, but she was trying to be patient. If the way he kissed her was any indication, she had a good feeling about his lovemaking skills once he figured out what he was doing. One of the things that she discovered about Ruben was that he always put a lot of care and dedication into things he was passionate about. 

She felt him hook his fingers into the waist of her panties and tug at them impatiently. Arching her hips, she helped him get them down, kicking them off once they’d gotten over her knees. She moaned against his mouth when he came back down with her and his head pressed against her folds. He pressed against her, searching for give, his penis sliding over her clit as he prodded. He broke from her, growling in frustration and throwing his head back. 

“Wait, wait, wait…” Clara soothed, reaching her hand between them and grabbing him. 

She guided him to her entrance, and arched up into him, moaning as he stretched her. She released him and Ruben eagerly sank the rest of the way into her. Resting his forehead against hers, he began thrusting into her roughly, his hand reaching up to grip her wrist. She winced, not prepared for the pace he’d decided on. She began rocking her hips to meet his thrusts, in an attempt to get her body used to him. 

Ruben grunted and panted above her, his eyes nearly closed. A moan left his lips every now and then, as well as the occasional whimper. Clara arched as her body finally accommodated his length, crying out. He pulled her against him tightly and bit down hard on her shoulder, nearly breaking the skin. Digging her fingers into his back, she wrapped one leg around his waist. His grip on her wrist tightened and he breathed her name against the bruise spreading on her shoulder. 

He began pumping faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin intermingling with their breaths and moans in the dusty room. Clara felt him hit her cervix, and her nails raked down his back in response. Ruben had closed his eyes, his breath growing ragged. He shuddered, giving one final cry as he buried himself deep, emptying into her. His hips thrust against her weakly as he rode out the rest of his orgasm. Then he collapsed against her, gasping, and she held him, gently stroking his back. 

She was a little annoyed that he’d finished so soon, but figured it was to be expected given his inexperience. 

_ Probably a good thing I didn’t blow him. _

A creeping feeling ebbed into her brain that sobered her up. 

_ Congratulations, ol’ girl. You just fucked a murderer and let him cum in you.  _

She shook the thought from her head as Ruben rolled off of her, the sensation of him pulling out of her making her gasp. Something caught her eye as she looked down, a splash of color on her hands. Holding her hands up in the light, her eyes widened. Her hands were covered in blood, smeared across her fingers and palms like cheap, special effects Halloween makeup. She immediately shot up and grabbed Ruben by the arm, turning him and craning her neck to get a better look at his back. Angry, red lines scrawled down the thin skin on his back, seeping blood. His back was smeared with red splotches from where she’d rubbed it. 

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think about…” She began looking around frantically. “We need to get those cleaned up!”

Ruben furrowed his brow, propping himself up on his elbow to look at her. Noticing her hands, his face relaxed and he sat up, gently cupping the backs of her hands, leaving her palms upturned. 

“I didn’t even feel it.” He whispered, kissing her forehead. “Come with me. We’ll go get cleaned up.”

He stood, pulling her to her feet, and led her from the bedroom. He took her to a tiled bathroom and let her wash her hands while he began filling the nearby claw-footed tub. Once her hands were clean, she watched him nervously, frowning at the rivulets of blood running down his back. 

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” He asked suddenly, making her jump. 

“What?”

“Blood. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Oh. No…” She began pulling at the ends of her hair anxiously. “I just feel bad that I hurt you.”

Ruben turned off the faucet and walked over to her, taking her by the hand and leading her to the steaming tub. 

“As I’ve said, I didn’t feel it. You didn’t really hurt me.” He stepped into the tub and pulled her in with him. “I have nerve damage in most areas of my body.”

They lowered into the water and Ruben pulled her into his arms as he leaned back against the wall of the tub. Clara rested her head in the crook of his neck, watching the submerged ends of her hair drift in the water like some ethereal deep-sea creature. 

“Will they heal okay?” She asked quietly. 

“It might take them a little longer than normal, but they’ll be alright.” Ruben had his head laid back against the porcelain of the tub, his eyes closed. 

“At least you have feeling in _other_ areas.” She remarked with a smirk. 

Ruben didn’t reply. After a drawn-out silence, she looked up at him. He was staring up at the ceiling blankly. Clara slowly sat up to get a better look at him, propping herself up on the side of the tub. 

“Is something wrong? Was that insensitive?”

His eyes snapped down to her and he reached out with his left hand, running his fingers down her cheek. His eyes were sad, and when he ran his fingers over her face again, he pressed a little more firmly. He frowned, lowering his hand back into the water. 

“I wish I could feel you fully.” He stared solemnly at her cheek. “I don’t touch you with that hand, because I can’t feel you. I can barely feel you with my right hand.”

Clara laid back down with him, nestling against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to the top of her head. 

“That’s why I’ve been researching consciousness. I just want to be able to feel things with my own skin. The rain...Laura...you.” He mumbled into her hair, tightening his hold on her. 

Clara remained quiet, contemplating what he’d said. The comment about Laura confused her. How did he expect to feel someone who was dead? She felt a little uneasy, the urge to get away from him rising within her. But she closed her eyes and listened to the thud of his heart, letting her body relax against him. 

“I want to have the life I was meant to have, the life I  _ deserved  _ to have.”

Clara opened her eyes again and stared at the wall, her breathing even despite the fact her heart had just started pounding in her chest. She hugged Ruben tightly and he leaned back again, sighing. 

She sat by one of the windows in the sitting room, staring outside with her knees pulled up to her chest. It had begun to snow again, heavy flakes falling grey against the night sky. She was wearing Ruben’s shirt, the sleeves hanging loosely around her arms. She looked up as a blanket was draped over her shoulders, and she wrapped it around herself snugly. Ruben sat behind her, freshly wrapped in bandages, and rested his head on top of hers as she looked back to the window. 

“It’s snowing.” She commented dryly. 

“Will you be leaving soon?”

“No. I’ll stay tonight, if that’s okay. I’ve never liked driving in the snow at night.”

“Stay as long as you like, my love.” He turned his head to the side, laying his cheek against her head. 

The pet name surprised her. They hadn’t even said ‘I love you’ to each other. She wondered if it was the rush of oxytocin that had brought on this affectionate behavior. It was a little unnerving coming from someone who was usually so stoic. 

“Ruben?”

“Mm?”

“What did you mean earlier...when you said you wanted to be able to feel Laura again?”

He met her eyes in their reflection of the glass. A gentle smile slowly spread on his face. 

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart.”

She knitted her brow and turned to look at him, studying his face expectantly. He had a far off look in his eyes, and when he finally met her gaze, he gave her a long, gentle kiss on the forehead. Clara gave him another confused look and then turned back to the window, snuggling further into the blanket so that only her eyes and the top of her head poked out. She’d be lucky if she was able to sleep that night. 

Ruben had left sometime during the middle of the night. Clara had woken up noticing the lack of arms wrapped protectively around her, and more noticeably the lack of warm, comforting body heat pressed against her. It was still dark, her cellphone telling her it was 2:46 AM when she looked at it. 

The house was unsettlingly quiet. Clara settled back into the covers and listened closely for any sounds, her eyes darting back and forth in the darkness. The minutes ticked by, and Ruben still hadn’t come back. Reluctantly, she sat up and pulled back the covers, swinging her legs over the bed. She padded to the door and peeked out, looking for any sign of life. The hallway was dark and still. 

She walked back to the bedside table and grabbed her phone, turning on the flashlight and venturing out into the looming darkness of the hallway. She found herself jumping at every little noise, every creak of a floorboard, or the eerie echo of her own footsteps reverberating from behind her. She opened the door to the foyer and found it dark as well. 

_ Great. You fucked a murderer, he said some weird thing about his dead sister, now he disappears in the middle of the night, and you’re going to end up finding some kind of creepy Norman-Bates-Psycho shit, and get stabbed to death in your underwear.  _

“Stop being ridiculous.” She scolded herself aloud, her voice a harsh whisper. 

She carefully made her way downstairs, trying to be quiet despite her knowing she was overreacting. The house gave her no hint of anyone else being there with her. Upon reaching the main floor, she spun in a slow circle, not able to decide which door to check first. 

_ Are you serious right now, Clara? You’re just going to explore the house without permission? You’re just asking for some horror movie shit to happen.  _

“Where would he have disappeared to at 2 in the morning?” She stopped turning and frowned. 

The house offered no answers, its silence feeling judgmental. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’ The silence said. ‘You don’t belong here.’

She began her exploration with a deep breath and a glance over her shoulder. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to be quiet and sneak around. Her brain was playing off the horror film vibe a little too much. She had to admit that it was very creepy at night, though. She hugged herself with her free arm, the other sweeping her phone’s flashlight over the surrounding corridors.

Each door she opened led to another dusty, untouched room. The sitting room, kitchen, and piano room had also been empty. 

_ He didn’t go outside did he? _

She was about to start looking upstairs when she noticed a door in one of the rooms that she’d overlooked. Tilting her head, she walked slowly towards it, mapping in her mind where it could have led. It didn’t seem like it could have led into the adjacent room. The door was in the wrong place, and she would have seen it. 

_ A basement perhaps? Or a closet?  
_

Just as she began reaching for the knob, a hand came from behind her and grabbed her arm. She yelped and stumbled away from the hand, looking behind her in terror. Ruben stood in the shadows, his eyes shining in the glow from her flashlight. He glared at her, his mouth set in a firm line. 

“Clara, what are you doing here?” He asked in a low, dangerous tone, his voice dripping with suspicion. 

“I was looking for you.” She stammered. “I woke up and you weren’t there, and then you didn’t come back after a while. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He replied in a monotone, his eyes narrowing. “So I came downstairs to work.”

He approached her with slow, deliberate steps, and she retreated backward, tripping as she ran into a desk. Pressing against her, he ran his knuckles along her jaw.

“You shouldn’t wander around alone, my love. It’s dangerous.” He whispered, his voice still carrying an edge. “The house is old, and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt by wandering into something you shouldn’t.”

She stared at him with wide, fearful eyes, and he wrapped his arms around her gently, cradling the back of her neck so she’d rest her head on his shoulder. The fingers of his other hand dug hard into her waist. She felt herself shaking.

“You’re trembling. Are you cold?” Clara shook her head, her mouth refusing to work.

Ruben was quiet for a minute, turning something over in his head. He let go of her waist and hugged her tightly, running his hand over her hair. Clara hadn’t stopped trembling, and now she was pressing her eyes against his shoulder in an attempt to stop tears from spilling from her eyes. She tightened her jaw until it ached.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He said, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Ruben, you’re scaring me.” She whispered, her voice threatening to break.

“Oh, Clara. I’m just trying to protect you. I would never hurt you.” 

He grasped her hands and raised them up, kissing both of them. Clara was trying to get herself under control, but it was difficult. She didn’t know why her fight or flight had kicked in so strongly. Her brain had screamed ‘DANGER’ like an alarm.

“Let’s go back to bed. I promise I’ll stay this time.” He kissed her hands again, and she nodded, swallowing hard.

Once they were back in Ruben’s bed, curled against each other, Clara finally settled down. Ruben stroked her hair gently, her head nestled under his.

“I’m sorry I got so worked up. I think I just scared myself before I found you.” She murmured sleepily against his neck.

“It’s alright.” He nuzzled against her head. “Clara, promise me something.”

“Hm?”

“Promise me you'll never go through that door unless I’m with you.”

Clara opened her eyes, staring at the angry red flesh of his neck. She wondered what was behind the door. What was he hiding?

“Okay. I won't.”

“Good girl.” He kissed the top of her head. “Now get some sleep. Good night, my love.”

“...Good night.”

Clara stayed awake until Ruben’s breaths became slow and even. She cast a glance at the door, her mind concocting a plan of sneaking downstairs. As she began imagining what could possibly be behind it that Ruben didn’t want her to see, her eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted to sleep.


	5. Part I. Ritual of the Rival Tribes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara finally learns about what Beacon's affiliate has really been up to.

“It’s the anniversary of your hire date. Congratulations! You’ve made it a whole year!”

Clara stared blankly at Jimenez, comprehending what he’d said but too tired to care. Managing a weak smile, she mumbled thank you and went back to her paperwork. Jimenez stepped away from the door to her office, closing it gently behind him. Clara glanced up, watching as he approached her desk. 

“Clara, I have a proposition for you.”

She looked up, the bags under her eyes evident, the displeasure on her face moreso. She’d been studying new techniques for treating Cluster B patients, and had been pulling a lot of all-nighters. She wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. 

“MOBIUS has taken an interest in your methodology and wondered if you would like to participate in their latest project. You would be able to contribute your knowledge from your research, and they believe you’d be a valuable asset.”

Clara narrowed her eyes, fidgeting with her pen. Jimenez noticed her apprehension and sat down across from her. 

“I really believe this would be a good opportunity for you. You’d be able to conduct more extensive research on physiological effects of trauma, and have more assets at your disposal.”

Her chest filled with a sort of nostalgia. She missed working in a lab. She spent the better part of 6 years with her eye practically glued to a microscope and a probe in her hand. She’d seen her fair share of the human brain, specimens from willed body donation programs. One of her former colleagues bought her a mug as a joke that said ‘What’s the matter with your grey matter?’ It was collecting dust in the corner of one of her cabinets. 

She tapped her pen against her finger. She still didn’t trust MOBIUS, but she couldn’t deny that the opportunity intrigued her. Her mind flooded with research possibilities. 

“What’s the project?” She asked, going back to her paperwork. 

“There is a system in development where the consciousness of two people can be linked. People can share experiences, memories, exactly as they’ve experienced them.”

Clara stopped writing. She stared at her desk, her mind turning. 

“That sounds familiar. Ruben was doing similar research, wasn’t he?” She replied smarmily, her hand scrawling across the paper again. 

“Ah...yes. That’s why...they wanted him on the project.”

“I see.” 

“Would you be interested in joining the project?”

Clara finished her report and collected her papers in a neat stack, placing them on the corner of her desk. She folded her hands and leaned forward on her elbows, giving Jimenez a level look. 

“ _ Is  _ MOBIUS using Ruben’s research?”

Jimenez examined her coolly, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He looked down to his lap, sighing before looking back up at her. 

“Why are you so invested in Ruben? It was my understanding that you’re not treating him any longer.”

Clara cleared her throat and stood up, grabbing her stack of papers. She avoided his eyes as she headed to the door. 

“Clara!”

“Yes?” She replied curtly, glaring at the door. 

“What happened between you and Ruben?”

“Nothing. I stopped treating him due to a conflict of interest.”

“Really? He talks about you frequently.”

“Are we done here?” She looked over her shoulder at him. 

“Just consider what I said.”

  
  


There was a stray cat that had been hanging around the parking lot the past few weeks. He was a little thing, his tabby and white coat dirty from living on the streets. Clara wondered if anyone else had been feeding him, as he was very friendly. She’d been keeping a small bag of kibble in her car and giving him some in an old to-go cup lid on her breaks. He always wolfed it down nervously, as though he were worried another cat might come along and take it from him. Clara would sit with him on the curb, drinking coffee, and watching him eat. She’d started to affectionately refer to him as Bowie, his face markings reminding her of Ziggy Stardust.

“Someone ought to give you a home.” She said to him, scratching the top of his head as he curled up on her lap, purring loudly.

He blinked up at her with gold eyes, tucking his paws under his chest. Her apartment didn’t allow pets, otherwise she would have taken him in. She frowned down at him thoughtfully, giving his chin a scratch. She missed having pets, but she never felt like she had enough time to devote to one.

The sudden slamming of a car door caught her attention, and she looked up. Jimenez was walking up to the rear maintenance door with someone, talking to them in a hushed voice. The person next to him was wearing a hood, likely to hide their face, but Clara caught sight of something that made her pause. Burn scars.

Knitting her brow in confusion, she watched them curiously. Why were they going in the maintenance door? Gingerly lifting Bowie from her lap and back to the ground, she stood up and walked towards them cautiously. They were obviously arguing about something and had stopped on the concrete stairs to continue. Clara approached unnoticed, and finally got a better view of the man with Jimenez.

“Ruben?”

He instantly turned to look at her, and Jimenez stared at her with a panicked expression. She looked between the two of them with a bewildered expression. Ruben’s head was covered with a knit cap.

“Clara-” Ruben started, but Jimenez interrupted him.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I’m on my break.” Clara replied indignantly. “What are  _ you _ doing out here? Why is Ruben here? You’re not committing him, are you?”

“No, nothing like that.” Jimenez composed himself, trying to ease the tension. “Ruben has agreed to aid MOBIUS’ project.”

“Considering it’s  _ my _ research they’re using.” Ruben grumbled, shooting the older man an icy glare.

Clara gave Jimenez her own glare, bristling more at her confirmed suspicions. She crossed her arms expectantly.

“That journal a few months ago...that wasn’t  _ your _ research, was it?” Her voice was venomous now.

Jimenez looked ashamed for a moment, looking away from her.

“No.” Ruben replied for him, biting back his own anger.

“I thought so. That level of intelligence seemed a bit beyond your capabilities, Marcelo.” Jimenez narrowed his eyes.

“Look,” He said, seething. “We can’t stand out here all day. We can continue this discussion inside, if you’re so inclined. The administrator is very eager for Ruben to get started.”

“Fine.” Clara replied bitterly.

Jimenez sighed and continued up the stairs, swiping his badge on the keypad. It beeped, and the door clicked loudly as it unlocked. Clara exchanged a look with Ruben and trotted up the steps, brushing his hand with hers deliberately as she passed him. For a moment, he started to reach out to catch it, but then dropped his arm once more. He followed closely behind her, keeping pace with her as they entered the building. Jimenez walked past them, annoyance clear on his face, and they followed.

Clara hadn’t been in this part of the building. If it wasn’t part of her daily routine, she never ventured to different parts of the hospital unless she was instructed. Even if she  _ had _ been here a whole year, most of the building was largely a mystery to her. The hallway smelled a little musty, and the lighting was harsh, if a little old. She frowned at their surroundings as they walked, wondering just how much money they needed to update the hospital. She also wondered how much of the building didn’t meet code anymore.

Ruben’s hand brushed hers, and her fingers instinctually laced with his, giving his hand a small squeeze. She was angry for him, having his years of hard work stolen like this. Did they think bringing him in would suddenly set things right? What she wouldn’t give to punch Jimenez in the face.

“Have you considered the proposition I made to you earlier, now that you see who’s involved?” Jimenez asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“I’m not getting involved in a project I know nothing about. I still don’t understand why you want my expertise anyway.” Clara spat.

“I’m sure Ruben would be more than happy to fill you in on the details.”

They continued on until they reached an elevator. It looked very old, like something out of the 1940s.

_ City planning would have a goddamn field day with this place. _

Upon entering, Clara and Ruben stood at the back while Jiminez operated the controls. Clara glanced at Ruben quizzically, looking over his exposed skin. He’d been more liberal with his bandages around her, but he still usually wore them as more of a habit than anything else. Lately, he’d been wearing them over his head religiously, claiming he’d injured his head by accident.

“What happened to your bandages?” She whispered to him.

“I didn’t have time.”

She looked him up and down with concern, and then looked at the elevator doors contemplatively.

“Has Dr. Whiting been to the facility yet?” Ruben asked Jimenez, his hand exploring up Clara’s backside and under the hem of her shirt.

Clara raised her eyebrows, giving Ruben a sidelong glance. She shivered as his fingers touched the small of her back. Ruben smirked.

“No. Dr. Whiting doesn’t even know we operate out of the hospital.”

Clara scowled, her hand reaching back to grab Ruben’s wrist.

“We?” She questioned.

“MOBIUS. Beacon is the perfect place for them to conduct their research.”

“Jesus Christ, Marcelo! Have you been using patients for experiments?!”

“Before you go directing all of your anger towards me, perhaps you should ask Ruben where he’s been getting the ‘supplies’ for  _ his _ research.”

“Ruben is  _ sick _ , Marcelo. You’re talking a whole fucking organization willing to do human experimentation!”

“So that excuses his behavior, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t! But who exactly enabled him with those…’supplies’, as you call them?”

Marcelo turned to her, scowling as he noticed Ruben’s hand slip from the back of her shirt. He gave him a look that said they’d be discussing the matter later before turning his attention back to Clara.

“And what about you, Clara? What about your research on the brain?”

“Are you serious?! Those people were dead! They donated their bodies to science in their wills! This isn’t anything like using patients who are  _ mentally ill _ and can’t give you any kind of consent!”

Jimenez narrowed his eyes and turned back to the doors as the elevator stopped. Clara was so angry she was shaking, her fists clenched tightly. Punching the man looked better and better. Jimenez opened the gate, and Ruben and Clara followed him out of the elevator. They walked down a hallway, Clara noting the guard stationed at the double doors at the end. As they approached, the guard gave Clara and Ruben a wary once over.

“The administrator is expecting us.” Jimenez explained.

The guard nodded and let them through. Clara didn’t know what she was expecting to be behind the doors, but it certainly wasn’t a crisp, clean, lab facility. Panic was setting into her chest, her heart hammering against her ribcage. To think this had been right under her nose for a whole year. How had she not heard anything about it? Seen any of these people?

“What the hell?” She mumbled to herself.

The group made their way to what looked like an empty conference room, a large screen mounted on the wall. As the guard let them through, Clara heard him mutter something over him com piece. Jimenez sat down, and gestured for them to do so as well. They moved to the chairs across from him, and he rolled his eyes. Clara stared at the chair as though it might be made of filth, gingerly pulling it out before sitting down uncomfortably. Ruben sat beside her, his hand sliding onto her thigh and squeezing it. She gave him a worried look, and he smiled, giving her a reassuring nod. Breathing out a sigh, she turned to the screen as it came to life. There he was, the man she’d run into in the hallway.

“Dr. Jimenez, Mr. Victoriano, glad you could make it. Ah, and Dr. Whiting! What a pleasure to see you as well.” Clara glared down at the table. “I take it Dr. Whiting understands what we’re doing here then?”

“Not entirely, but she has an idea.” Jimenez explained carefully, giving her a sideways glance.

“Wonderful. Now I’m sure, Mr. Victoriano, you understand why your work is invaluable to us. You’ll be provided with materials, funds, whatever you need, as long as you can meet your deadlines.”

“Deadlines?” Ruben questioned quietly.

“Yes. We’re not just going to let you stay in our facility and waste our time and money on whatever deranged fantasy you have your mind set on. We want you to continue your work on STEM, and provide us with a finished, working product.”

Clara listened quietly, her brow knitting in confusion as she looked between Ruben and the screen.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Dr. Whiting?” The man on the screen asked, his eyes boring into her.

“I’m just…” She began. “I don’t understand what it is you’re doing or trying to accomplish here.”

“Perhaps you’d like to assist Mr. Victoriano so you can get a better understanding of the system he’s created?”

“I don’t think that would be practical.” Jimenez interjected, his mouth turning into a disgusted frown.

“And why is that, Dr. Jimenez?” The administrator asked, bored.

“I believe there would be a conflict of interest, which is the same reason Dr. Whiting stepped down as Ruben’s psychologist.”

The administrator turned his attention back to Clara and Ruben, studying them carefully. Clara thought she saw an amused spark in his eye as he leaned back in his chair.

“Dr. Whiting, are you going to create a distraction for Mr. Victoriano?”

“I haven’t even agreed to work for your organization, sir.” She retorted with a grimace.

The corner of the man’s mouth twitched. Clara sniffed dismissively and pretended to take an interest in the wall.

“I think the work you’ve done on trauma would be beneficial to our little project, Dr. Whiting. You could help us study the way the system affects its users, and if someone would be a poor candidate for entering STEM.”

“You keep using that word. What is STEM?” She sighed in exasperation.

The man’s smile broadened and he leaned forward, clasping his hands.

“I’m afraid that information is classified to people outside of the project. I’m surprised Mr. Victoriano hasn’t told you, given your...history.”

“I really don’t see how that’s any of your business!” Clara snapped, baring her teeth.

The administrator didn’t reply, continuing to smile. He stared at her expectantly. They all did. She was feeling very claustrophobic. Ruben’s hand squeezed her thigh again, and she looked at him desperately. They exchanged a long stare, and she sighed once more, her head falling into her hands. Staring at the wall ahead, she wrung her hands nervously, finally rubbing them together before looking back at the screen.

“Can I sleep on it?” She said softly.

“You have until the end of the day tomorrow.” Replied the administrator, his smile fading into a grim line.

“I can show you to your room, Ruben.”

Clara paused in her walk back to the entrance, looking at Jimenez with bewilderment.

“You’re not taking him home?” She asked.

“The administrator has decided it would be more prudent to have him stay here, rather than wasting time driving back and forth between the estate. That way he has more time to work on the project.”

She turned, her heart sinking.

“Well, couldn’t he stay with me? I live a lot closer.”

“Out of the question.”

“Why?” Ruben asked, turning to Jimenez with a glower. 

“For starters, you hid your relationship with Dr. Whiting from me. A relationship, I might add, that is highly inappropriate.” Jimenez flashed Clara a disapproving scowl. “Secondly, the administrator would never approve of it.”

Ruben studied the floor, his hands balling into fists, and he spun on his heel defiantly, marching over to Clara and pulling her into a tight embrace.

“I love you.” He whispered in her ear. “I don’t know when they’ll let me see you again.”

“Ruben, don’t do this.” She pleaded with him. “It’s not safe! These people are dangerous! Let’s leave. We can go to the police, we can go back to my place, we don’t have to get involved in all of this.”

“I’m already involved in it, Clara. This is  _ my _ work. I have to be the one to finish it.”

He kissed her deeply and then stepped away from her, turning back towards Jimenez. She held his hand in both of hers, trying to get him to stay, but he pulled from her grasp and walked away.

She watched the two of them walk away, the feeling of his hand still warm in hers. A guard approached her, attempting to talk to her face-to-face, but she refused to look at him.

“Ma’am, I’ve been given instructions to escort you from the facility. You won’t be allowed back until tomorrow.”

The guard put his hand on her shoulder, and she shoved it off violently, turning and walking towards the doors. The guard quickly followed after her.

  
  


She’d drank almost the entire bottle of Riesling in her fridge. Sitting on the edge of her bed in an oversized t-shirt and socks, she stared at the laundry basket sitting in front of her bedroom door. She knew she needed to do laundry, but she was struggling to do anything after the day’s events. She’d left work early, and cried the whole drive home, only keeping herself composed long enough to make it to her apartment where she collapsed in a heap on the floor. She’d been holding so much emotion in while she was at the facility. It was all too much. She eventually managed to get her work clothes off, and changed into something comfy.

_ There’s nothing you can do about it now unless you want to join a corrupt organization. Shit, but now you know what your hospital’s affiliate does. Now what? _

“Fuck.” She groaned, flopping back onto her bed.

She turned her head, staring at the pair of lounge pants hanging on the foot of her bed. It was getting dark outside, and if she wanted to avoid the weird people at her complex, she was going to have to get on that laundry. Sighing, she snatched the pants and put them on, standing up and grabbing her basket. Slipping on an old pair of flip-flops, she headed to the front door. Balancing the basket on her hip so she could hold it with one arm, she opened her door. She yelped as she was met with the hooded form of a person. Instinctually fleeing backward, she dropped her basket, dirty laundry spilling all over the floor.

A lump formed in her throat as the figure stepped into her apartment, shutting the door behind them. Clara scrambled backward further, her eyes wide. Then they lowered their hood, and her hands went to her mouth.

“How did you find me?” She took a cautious step forward.

He smiled, closing the distance between them. “I looked up your personnel file.”

“That’s...so illegal.” She laughed. “How did you get away?”

“Evidently no one told MOBIUS’ little guard dogs that I wasn’t allowed to leave.”

Clara smiled, and then she glanced down at her clothes and around her apartment. She’d been meaning to tidy up, and she certainly wasn’t expecting company. She frantically began scrambling around, picking up discarded receipts and dirty dishes off the coffee table.

“Sorry about the mess. I don’t get many visitors, as I’m sure you can imagine. Any time Janine comes over, we just kind of have drinks and watch dumb TV shows. Her place is  _ way _ worse. Don’t tell her I said that.”

Ruben began wandering around, exploring the little apartment curiously, making notes of all the little things Clara had on display. Some knickknacks she’d picked up from overseas holidays, a couple of houseplants, pictures of her parents. He stopped in front of an older, framed picture of a teenage girl, her hair tied up in a bun with a ribbon, wearing a black dance leotard, grinning at someone off-camera, a cellophane-wrapped peony bouquet in her arms. He picked the picture up, studying it with intrigue.

“Is this you?”

Clara looked up from the kitchen counter as Ruben held the picture up. She grinned bashfully, matching the girl in the picture, and put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, drying her hands off and walking over.

“Yep, that’s me. That was my...sophomore year of high school? That was probably a few months before I injured my ankle. I think that was from our final night of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” She admired the picture wistfully.

“You never told me that you’re a ballerina.” He said with a smirk.

“ _ Was.”  _ She corrected him. “I did ballet up until the end of my sophomore year, then I injured my ankle during practice, and I could never do the steps right again. Something about the way the ligament tore. I guess it never healed right. I always blamed my instructor for wanting to do  _ The Rite of Spring _ .”

Ruben looked at her curiously, wanting to hear more of the story. She met his eyes, and looked into the distance, recalling the memory. She couldn’t tell you who wrote half of the pieces she’d danced to, but she could tell you the premise of the story.

“I remember watching the ballet on video once. I always thought it was such an intense performance. Pagan rituals of Russia with sacrificial rites, then the chosen sacrifice dances herself to death. Really dark shit. Well, when my instructor informed me that I was to play the part of The Chosen One, I was terrified. The final, sacrificial dance encompasses so much of your energy. You have to use practically your whole body. I’ve heard other women who have done the part say that eventually, you can’t even feel your legs anymore, but you have to dance on. Well, evidently I pushed myself too hard, and my ankle just couldn’t take anymore, and it just...gave out. I was coming down from a jump, and suddenly my foot was rolling sideways. I remember the pain being so bad that I puked. I was out for months, and when I came back, that ankle never wanted to support my weight during releves or sautes.”

She smiled sadly, then drew in a deep breath, heading back to the kitchen. Ruben set the frame down gingerly, giving it a final look of wonder before returning to his exploration of the living room.

“Are you hungry? I can whip up something if you are. I don’t know what kind of slop they feed you there. Probably awful hospital food.” Clara began rummaging through her cabinets, taking inventory of what she had. “Have you ever had hospital food? Terrible stuff. Wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Tastes like dusty cardboard.”

Ruben slid off his hat, tossing it lazily onto her sofa as he sat down. He looked up with concern as the sound of glass shattering came from the kitchen.

“Clara?”

“Jesus fuck. What did they do to you?” She breathed. She was staring at him in horror, her hand held in a position like she’d been holding a glass.

The right half of Ruben’s skull had been cut away and replaced with an acrylic casing, revealing his brain beneath. Realizing what she was referring to, he reached up and touched it, as though to confirm that was what she was staring at. She watched him, wide-eyed, repulsion evident on her face.

“...MOBIUS didn’t do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Clara, do you remember when I told you that I injured my head, and that’s why I was keeping it bandaged?”

“ _ You _ did that?! Ruben, why would you do that to yourself?”

“You don’t understand how close I am…”

“You experimented on yourself?!”

She leaned forward on the counter, scowling at him in disbelief. He started to answer her, but she huffed loudly, carefully stepping over the pieces of broken glass to get to her sink. Rummaging through the cupboard beneath it, she pulled out a dustpan and brush, and set about the task of cleaning up her broken glass. Ruben got up and carefully walked over to where she was crouched, squatting in front of her and watching as she angrily swept shards of glass into her dustpan.

“Clara…”

“Let me finish!” She hissed.

He waited patiently as she cleaned up the remainder of the pieces and dumped them into an empty shipping box she had stuffed in her pantry, next to her trash can. She folded it shut and set it on top of the bin before slamming the pantry door shut, and exhaling loudly through her nose. Ruben stood and walked the short distance to her, gathering her in his arms and rubbing her back as she trembled angrily.

“I had to do it, Clara. I had to be certain it would work when STEM was connected to my brain.”

“STEM, STEM, STEM. I’ve heard this so many times today, and I still don’t know what it is!” She replied tiredly.

“Do you remember when I told you that I wanted to be able to feel things again?”

“Yes?”

“The research I’ve been doing...it’s to link my consciousness with that of another person so that I can feel things  _ through _ them.”

“Like...taking over their body?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Ruben, that’s wrong!” She scolded him quietly. “You can’t just take someone’s life from them like that!”

“My entire life was taken from me!” He seethed. “My sister, my chances of having any sense of normalcy were  _ stripped _ from me.”

Clara frowned, pressing her head against his chest. She hated how much pain he’d gone through, and the sort of person it had sculpted him into. If his father hadn’t been such a monster, maybe he could have gotten the help he needed when he was younger, maybe he could have been better adjusted.

“I thought you’d understand.” He whispered.

“I’m trying to, Ruben. I’ve been trying. But this is all so...so much. All in one day. Wave after wave of shit crazier than the last. I’m trying to make sense of it all, but it is  _ devastating _ .”

She pulled away from him, crossing her arms and walking into the living room. He stood watching her quietly, his face a mixture of hurt, anger, and confusion. She was quiet for a few minutes before she finally turned back to him, her eyes full of concern.

“You could have died doing that! You could have fucked up your personality and become a completely different person! That’s so dangerous, Ruben! What would I have done if I had come back one day, and you didn’t recognize me, or you were just some drooling mess on the floor? You should know better than anyone how delicate the brain is!”

His face contorted in surprise, his shoulders slumping. She began pacing the floor, looking like an angry parent explaining consequences to their irresponsible child.

“You’ve had a very traumatic past, but that doesn’t excuse all of this.”

“I have to go back.” He said quietly.

“Back? Back where? To the facility?”

Ruben nodded.

“How are we going to get you back in? I can’t tell Jimenez you’re here, and I don’t think I can swipe my badge on that keypad out back. Nevermind I don’t have the foggiest idea how you would even get to that hallway from the main entrance.”

She bit her knuckle, her eyes racing over the carpet as she thought. Ruben approached her quietly, his eyes locked onto her face. She looked up at him, and sighed, shaking her head.

“We’ll figure it out in the morning. I’m tired, my head hurts, and I’ve dealt with enough nonsense for one day.” Her eyes snapped down to the laundry still waiting patiently for her. “I’ll deal with you tomorrow.”

She grabbed Ruben’s hand, dragging him to the bedroom. His eyes lit up with renewed curiosity at the sight of more of Clara’s belongings. She closed the door behind them and walked to the bathroom, removing her pants as she went, and leaving them heaped in the middle of the floor. Browsing through her medicine cabinet, she produced a bottle of melatonin, and popped a couple of tablets in her mouth. She filled the plastic cup on her sink with water, and gulped it, slamming the cup down in frustration. Ruben was still looking around her room when she turned the light off and flopped onto her bed.

The sound of the bed creaking caught his attention, and he turned his head towards her. Her arms cradled her pillow, her face buried in it. She had one leg hanging off the bed, and her chest rose and fell with steady breaths. At last she lifted her head, looking at him through a messy mop of hair. The sight made him smile, and he undressed, chuckling softly. Clamoring over her, he got on the bed, laying down beside her. Rolling to her side, Clara reached out and switched off the bedside lamp, drowning the room in darkness. The dull glow of street lamps came through the blinds, casting strange, orange shadows on the wall. Clara fidgeted, scrambling to get her legs under the covers, and nudging Ruben to move so he could be covered, too. Satisfied with her work, she flopped onto her pillow heavily, and stared at Ruben in the low light. He could tell she was still upset with him. He reached out to her and brushed his knuckles along her cheek, watching as she screwed her mouth up in a hesitant grimace.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this, Clara.” He murmured.

“The whole thing is a mess.” She paused for a moment. “What are you planning on doing? They stole your research, and now they’re...what? Going to hold you prisoner and make you submit to their demands, so they can use it for their own devices? I don’t like it.”

“We need to make it work to our advantage.”

“We?”

“Yes. If you agree to join the project, we can work together, and we can take my work back from them. Make it mine again.”

“I’m not comfortable with this project, Ruben. It doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Clara, we can be together the way we were meant to be. We can be happy. We can be a family. Don’t you want that?” His voice was desperate, pleading.

Clara scrutinized him suspiciously. Frowning, she moved closer to him, nestling against his chest. She didn’t know how to answer him. She  _ did _ love him, and she did catch herself thinking about what their life could have been like in different circumstances, but she was conflicted. This wasn’t the way to achieve that if it was to be achieved at all.

“I just have to make sure that STEM is under my control. I won’t let them have it.”

She could tell he was coming up with a plan, the gears in his mind turning. She reached up to touch his face, and her fingers brushed the acrylic cranium as she went too high. She recoiled as though she’d been burned, and buried her hand under herself.

“Just promise me you won’t experiment on yourself anymore. It’s weird.” She said, her tone disgruntled.

“I’m past that stage in my research now. You have nothing to worry about.” He chuckled, bringing her other hand to his lips to kiss the tips of her fingers.

She tilted her head up, her face saying she didn’t believe him, and he smiled gently at her. He kissed her forehead and lowered his own to rest against hers. 

“I love you.” He breathed.

“I love you, too.” She whispered in return.

He pressed his lips to hers, his tongue snaking into her mouth. She sighed against him, and he grabbed her hips, gently rolling her onto her back, his fingers latching onto the hem of her shirt to pull it up. She moaned as one of his hands slipped down the front of her panties, the long digits moving slowly across her folds. Breaking their kiss, he looked down into her eyes before slipping a finger inside her. She arched against him, and he smirked, leaning down to kiss the exposed skin of her chest.

“You’re mine, Clara. Never forget that.” He whispered against her flesh, his lips trailing along her breast. 

He paused and then took her nipple into his mouth, enjoying how aggravated his hesitation made her.

He made love to her that night like they might never see each other again. Neither one of them knew if they would, or if they’d ever have an opportunity to share this level of intimacy after he went back to MOBIUS. In the afterglow, they clung to each other tightly, basking in the presence of one another, two forlorn candles clinging to the last embers of light they had left before the tempest snuffed them out forever. For the first time since they’d begun their relationship, Clara openly wept, sobbing miserably against his chest as he held her close, his face buried in her hair.

Tomorrow would begin a new trial that neither one of them knew if they were ready to take on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Sorry if the pacing of this story is weird. I'm trying to break it up into two parts, with the first part taking place pre-game, and the second part taking place in-game.


	6. Part I. The Procession of the Sage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> STEM's final pieces are falling into place, and with them, tensions are running high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate putting notes at the beginning, but the chapter needs some warnings. This chapter contains smut, but also it gets a little violent towards the end, and there's character death.

She hated herself for agreeing to be a part of this project. The first couple of weeks, she had locked herself in the bathroom halfway through the day, and cried until she felt like throwing up. Any time she started work on a subject, it took her 20 minutes to steady her hands. Once she had to set down her tools and sit until her head stopped swimming. 

But she had to do it for Ruben. The day after he’d snuck over to her apartment, he’d lied and said he’d gone out for some fresh air and couldn’t get back in, so he called Clara. Jimenez didn’t believe them, but he didn’t question them further. She’d agreed to join the project to keep an eye on Ruben, still not trusting MOBIUS, but also not wanting him to be alone. 

They’d given her a couple of days to get things sorted among her patients before Jimenez transferred their treatment to another therapist. Clara always disliked saying goodbye to patients. It took all of her strength to not cry when one of her patients, a young woman who’d spent her life in the system, and lost her voice to a bacterial infection when she was younger, kept signing “don’t go”. 

Ruben was grateful for her presence, even when she wasn’t working in the lab with him. Even though the methodology disturbed her, she loved to watch him explain any new discoveries or progress he’d made. If she wasn’t in the lab, he’d burst into the room and begin pacing in front of her as he spoke, pausing only to show her some chart or diagram he’d jotted down. Then he’d be out of the room in a flurry, popping back in quickly to steal an exuberant kiss. 

Yet she missed him. In the near two months that had passed, those kisses were the only real physical intimacy they had shared. The closeness of him made her entire body ache. She was starving for his warmth, the feeling of his body molding against hers, and the whisper of hot breath on her neck. He was busy with his work, and as the days went by, his stress grew. MOBIUS was expecting more, they were expecting faster results. To touch him was to touch a stone sculpture; cold, stiff, unyielding. At times, she felt very alone in the world.

She enjoyed going outside during the day to take breaks, and visit with Bowie. The cat was looking better. He was more filled out, and his coat had a healthy sheen to it. He didn’t act so nervous when he ate anymore, apparently more sure of himself in a fight. But he was still more than happy to climb up in Clara’s lap, get some pets and scratches, and take a little nap before she had to go back inside. There were days she didn’t want to go back. She was content to sit on the curb with that little tabby and white cat until they both turned to dust. It seemed better than going back.

She was getting ready to go have just such a break when she noticed an odd sight at Ruben’s desk. Given his many health conditions, it startled her at first, but then she took note of the steady rise and fall of his chest. He’d fallen asleep, head down on his papers, arms resting in front of him, his hand still holding his pen. Clara watched him quietly, making certain there was nothing amiss before walking over to him. She rested her hand on his shoulder and leaned down, kissing his cheek before putting her mouth next to his ear.

“Ruben…” She whispered gently, rubbing his shoulder.

He groaned in response, not moving. She said his name again, and he drew in a deep breath, his fingers flexing.

“Laura?” He murmured.

Clara withdrew, and Ruben’s eyelids fluttered, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Swallowing, she leaned forward again, pressing against his back and pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“No. Clara.” She whispered. “You should go to bed and get some sleep.”

His eyes slowly opened and drifted towards her, bleary and bloodshot. As her words registered, he sat up as though he’d nodded off during something important and intended to continue unheeded. Clara gently grabbed his hand, stopping him before he began writing again.

“Did you stay up all night again?” She asked softly.

“I need to finish. He’s getting increasingly impatient.” He mumbled, staring intently at his papers.

“You need to rest. You’re overworking yourself, and staying up like this isn’t healthy.”

“You haven’t been here when he’s come in. He wants results. It seems like every day the deadline moves up by weeks.” His voice was thin, as though he were struggling to stay awake.

“You’re not going to be able to produce results if your brain is sleep-deprived.”

She kissed his temple and gave his hand a gentle tug. He gave her an unsure look, glancing back down at his notes like they might come to life and bite him. She gave another tug, and he hesitantly obliged her, standing and allowing her to lead him from the lab, and to his quarters.

The room was small, and it always reminded Clara of a prison cell with how sparse it was furnished. There was a small collection of anatomy and psychology books on the nightstand, but there were relatively no other personal effects. Locking the door, Clara let go of Ruben’s hand, leaving him to make his way to the bed on his own. When she turned back around, he was laying down, staring up at the ceiling. She joined him, kicking her heels off as she pulled her legs up. She propped herself up next to his chest, watching him with quiet curiosity. He struggled to keep his eyes open, yet something was making him fight sleep.

“Tell your brain it’s time to stop thinking.” Clara smiled playfully.

“If only it were that easy.” He sighed, finally looking at her.

He reached his hand up to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the rise of her cheekbone. She pressed against his hand, closing her eyes and relishing in his touch. Ruben pulled her down suddenly, holding her against his chest and deeply inhaling the scent of her hair. Exhaling through his mouth, he turned his head to stare at the wall. Propping her chin on his chest, Clara frowned, scanning over his features with concern.

“What’s wrong?” She asked him quietly.

“I don’t know how I’m going to finish my work on STEM by the time they’re expecting me to give it to them.”

“They’re assholes. This is _your_ work. If they want it to work properly, they’re going to have to realize that they need to give you the proper time you need to complete it.”

Ruben was considering something, a far off look in his eyes. His eyes danced from point to point as he formulated whatever it was going through his head. Clara waited patiently, having become familiar with this look. She knew better than to ask him about the thought before it came to fruition, knowing he wouldn’t answer her. Slowly, he turned his head, staring up at the ceiling once more, a smirk curling on his lips.

“I won’t give it to them.” He purred.

Clara shot up to her elbows, looking down at him incredulously. Ruben continued to smirk up at the ceiling, the last snippets of his idea setting into place in his mind.

“What do you mean you won’t give it to them? You’re just going to take everything and go?”

“Oh no. I need their funding to complete STEM. However…” He smiled at her and lowered his voice, letting her in on his secret. “I can take away their ability to control it.”

Clara’s brow furrowed and she waited for him to continue.

“In order for STEM to operate, it has to connect to a ‘core’, the brain waves of one individual. MOBIUS wants something they can plug into anyone. But I can change the system. I can alter it so it will only connect with my brain waves. They’ll see how...unexpendable I am.”

Clara considered what he said, chewing the inside of her lip. It was a clever plan, but it could be dangerous. Who’s to say they wouldn’t just kill him and take all of his research? She looked down thoughtfully. Fear was slowly building in her chest. She met his eyes, looking into them quietly, and his smirk fell away. Clara slowly pulled her legs up under herself, sitting up and placing her hands on her lap. Ruben propped himself up on his elbows, examining her as she stared down at the bed. 

“You don’t like the plan.” He said, his voice containing the slightest hint of inquiry. 

“I’m worried about how he’ll react.” She balled her hands up nervously. “He doesn’t seem like a very forgiving person. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

She looked at him with worry plastered across her face. As much as she tried, and for all her years of study, she knew she’d never be able to save Ruben from himself. If he decided to go ahead with this decision, then that was that. There’d be no talking him down, or reasoning with him. He’d already thought it through enough to his liking, and was committed to it. As much as he trusted her, he trusted himself more. The look he gave her was adamant, a confirmation of this knowledge. 

She sighed and swung her legs off the bed, rubbing her hands up her face and into her hair, holding her head. Ruben moved to sit next to her, his face placid. He made no move to comfort her, watching her patiently. She stared at her feet, taking slow, deep breaths. 

“You know how important this is to me.” Ruben whispered. 

“Yeah, and _you_ are important to _me_.” She lifted her head from her hands, looking at him desperately. “I don’t trust these people, Ruben. I just want…”

She trailed off, searching the floor as if it had the answers scrawled across it. Finally she turned to face him, taking his hands in hers and making eye contact for emphasis. 

“Just promise me you’ll be careful.” She pleaded. 

His expression remained blank as he scrutinized her face. It was as though he were taking everything in her expression and piecing it together with the words she’d said to get a firmer grasp of her reaction. Wordlessly, he climbed back on the bed, pulling her along until he had her laid beside him so that they faced each other. 

“I’m always careful.” He said softly, kissing her palm. Seeing her skeptical look, he defiantly added, “Always.”

“Go to sleep.” Clara said in mock annoyance, rolling over so her back was to him. 

When she was sure he was asleep, she carefully got up, picking up her heels and padding quietly to the door. She gently unlocked the bolt and paused as she opened the door, looking back to Ruben’s sleeping form. She watched him sadly for a few minutes before leaving the room and quietly closing the door behind her. Slipping her shoes on, she quickly made her way back to the lab, ignoring any guards she passed. 

She lost no time in beginning her review of Ruben’s notes. She wanted to get a better understanding of how he planned to carry out his plan, and to do that she needed a better understanding of how STEM itself worked. During her time working on the project, she’d reviewed charts and diagnosis reports of subjects and compiled dossiers about each of them. She’d then present the dossiers to Ruben and discuss the compatibility of each person within the STEM system. He’d taken a deep interest in people with past traumas, but he liked to experiment with different mental illnesses as well. 

She immersed herself in the notes, mentally going back to her days of cramming for exams as she went over each page and diagram. She didn’t even notice the time passing. Ruben’s research was terrifying, but incredibly interesting. She always found herself impressed with just how intelligent he was, and how much he’d just _taught himself_ in the years he was alone. As she got to older notes, she noticed something haphazardly tucked among them, the paper looking largely bereft of any writing. At first, she thought it was another diagram, but she smiled as she pulled it out. It was a rough sketch of her, sitting at her desk, head propped in her hand, working on paperwork, her reading glasses sitting atop her head. She always wondered what kind of artistic lessons he’d received when he was younger. He was very talented, though he mostly used that talent for anatomical diagrams. The sketch must have been something he’d done during one of the few times he’d hit a roadblock in his work. It made her a little giddy, knowing that he’d decided to draw her. 

Carefully setting it aside, she looked over the desk with a sigh. There was a patient file in the corner that gave her pause. It was unusual for Ruben to keep the patient files, as those were mainly something given to her to work on. Sliding it in front of her, she carefully lifted the manila flap, curious and dreading knowing the next person to be used for STEM tests. Upon seeing the patient name, she immediately closed the file, pressing it down with her hand. She stared at the folder as though it were made of everything evil in the universe. Her stomach knotted, and she pushed it away from her, feeling filthy. Leslie Withers didn’t deserve this on any level. None of the patients did, but Leslie had been through more than enough in his life.

Filled with disgust, Clara stared at Ruben’s desk disdainfully. It made her skin crawl. Trying to push the feeling down, she was about to go back to reading his notes, when she felt arms snake around her. She cried out in surprise, instinctually pulling away. Then her reasoning kicked in and she realized it was Ruben. He chuckled in her ear and placed a kiss on her shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I was hoping you’d still be in bed when I woke up.”

“Sorry. Just nerves I guess.” She cleared her throat, turning to face him. “Do you feel better now that you’ve had some sleep?”

He hummed and gently pulled her to her feet, kissing down her jawline as he brought her close. Her body felt electric with every caress of his lips, but her mind was still racing with her discovery. Her mind was playing a vicious game of tug-of-war between wanting to surrender to his advances and wanting to push him away.

_You can talk to him about it **after**. _Reasoned her desire.

_This is bad and you need to address it **now**._ Debated her morals.

“Ruben…” She began.

He gave a questioning hum, continuing to plant his kisses down her neck. He gave a testing nip at the nape of her neck, and she hissed, pressing against him. He ran his tongue over it before continuing with kisses.

“That file...on your desk…” Her mind was beginning to cloud.

“What about it?” He turned her around and slowly began backing her against one of the counters.

“Couldn’t you use someone else?” She breathed, inhaling sharply as she hit the cold metal of the counter.

He came up from her collar bone, studying her curiously. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Leslie’s file, and tilted his head as he turned back to her.

“What’s wrong with that one? I don’t think he was one of your patients.”

“He-he wasn’t…” Hearing this, he went back to placing kisses along her collar bone, making her voice hitch. “But...he...he’s had a really hard life. This is...too much.”

His hand wandered between her legs and her head fell back, her eyes closing. Kissing his way up her freshly exposed neck, he grabbed the back of her head and tilted it back down so that he could capture her lips. Biting her lower lip, he gently pulled away, looking up at her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Normally, I’d consider your request because I value your opinion. However, that boy’s history piques my interest. I want to see how compatible his brain waves are with the system. Now…”

He pressed his hand firmly against her clothed groin and rubbed slowly, making her arch up into him. Kissing his way to her ear, he bit her lobe and let out a shaky breath. She shuddered against him, her hands white-knuckle gripping the counter.

“I’ve seen that look you’ve been giving me when you think I’m not paying attention. That wanton, hungry stare, eyes dilated…” He trailed off as his other hand trailed down to one of her breasts, squeezing it gently. “What sort of dirty things have you been thinking about, Clara? What have we done in your mind? Have you daydreamed about me taking you here?”

He leaned back to stare into her eyes expectantly, his thumb tracing across her peaking nipple. She bit her lip, looking away in embarrassment as she nodded. He smirked and removed his hand from between her legs, replacing it with the bulge in his trousers. She let out a shuddering breath, her face contorting desperately.

“Is that what you want, my love?” He whispered huskily. “Do you want me to fulfill your fantasies? Do you need those carnal urges satisfied?”

He grinded against her, and she gripped the counter tighter, feeling the edge of the metal cutting into her fingers. Ruben’s hands fell to her thighs and he pushed her skirt up above her hips, kissing her roughly. She frantically began unbuckling his belt, moaning against his mouth as he slipped his fingers under the hem of her underwear. Teasing over her nub, Ruben pulled away to look her in the eye before sliding a finger into her. Her voice caught in her throat, and for a moment her hands froze in their work on his fly. He kissed her again, slowly fingering her as her brain tried to focus on what it was doing before, her hands uselessly scrambling at his pants for a few seconds before they found their objective. Once his fly was open, Clara’s hand almost magnetically snapped to his length and stroked it, eliciting a deep, guttural moan from Ruben.

She gasped as he removed his finger, his thumbs hooking into the waist of her lace briefs before yanking them down. He hoisted her up onto the counter, running his hands down her thighs. Panting, he stared into her eyes, his hands busy with adjusting his underwear so he would have easier access to her. The skin contact they made during sex was always one of his favorite things. Even with all of his nerve damage, he loved the sensation of her skin against his in the places where he _could_ still feel.

“Try not to be too loud.” He breathed. “I know how _vocal_ you get, and I don’t want any interruptions.”

“What if someone walks in?” She panted.

“Then I guess I’ll have a new test subject.” He closed the distance between them, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

Spreading her legs, he positioned his tip at her entrance and thrust into her, groaning as he met her warmth. He started off slow, and then picked up into a rhythm, holding her hips to keep her in place. Clara’s legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he broke their kiss, his hand slamming against the cabinet behind her head. The look in his eyes sent fire through her veins, the desperate, animalistic lust painted in those silvery rings as he drove into her. Her head lolled back, hitting the door of the cabinet, and she whimpered in an effort to contain the loud moan wanting to come out of her.

“God, you’re so perfect.” Ruben moaned, his elbow buckling, and his head resting against her shoulder.

He grabbed her leg and lifted it, trying to get a better position. Every slap of his skin against hers was accompanied by the discarded jingle of his belt buckle. Every thrust elicited a shrill groan from the metal workbench. Clara’s nails dug desperately into his shoulders, giving rise to a muffled cry against her. She’d learned all of the sweet spots that had feeling. She’d also learned what fueled his desire, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to have angry, red welts trailing down the unscarred portions of his back.

Pulling her closer, he began pumping into her furiously, leaving her breathless. Small moans escaped her lips in time with his thrusts, and Ruben began mumbling against her. His mouth left agitated kisses and bites on her neck and the little skin of her shoulder that was exposed.

“Beg for me.” He panted. “Tell me how much you want my cock.”

He moaned loudly as her legs tightened around him. 

“Please...please fuck me harder.” She pleaded, her voice a keening whine. “You feel so fucking good!” 

Neither of them flinched when a tray of instruments fell to the floor. Clara suddenly tightened around him, her eyes rolling back, and he slapped his hand over her mouth. His hand barely muffled the moan she let out, and he was quick to replace his hand with his mouth as she trembled against him. Grabbing her hips once more, he continued his rough thrusts. Clara’s arms trembled as she tried to keep herself upright. Ruben pressed his forehead against hers, grunting as his fingers dug into the flesh around her pelvic bone.

“Cum for me.” Clara whispered, biting his lip.

He growled as he kissed her, one hand running up to dig into the small of her back. His breathing grew heavier, and he buried his eyes in her shoulder as he gave a final thrust, spilling deep into her, and moaning low. His head lolled weakly against hers as his orgasm finished, and she smiled, cradling him against her. He sighed heavily as he panted, and leaned back, taking her hand and kissing his way from her palm down to her wrist. He leaned his forehead against hers once more and took a deep breath.

“I love you.” He murmured as he exhaled.

“Mm. I love you, too.” She smiled and gave him a lazy peck on the lips.

“Was it everything you wanted?” He asked slyly.

“Well, there’s a few things that played out differently in my head, but it’s okay.” She replied, grinning playfully.

Ruben chuckled and kissed her forehead before pulling out of her, making his way to the sink to clean himself up. She sat splay-legged on the workbench, not quite able to find the motivation to move. Ruben glanced back at her over his shoulder, and then turned his attention back to the sink.

“What are they going to think if they walk in and see you with your skirt up around your waist, and your panties on the floor, _Dr. Whiting_?” He asked, his voice smug.

“They’ll just be mad that we have more fun than they do.” She said with a stretch.

Her eyes fell to her underwear and the fallen tray of medical instruments. She frowned and lowered herself from the counter, snatching up her underwear and stuffing them in the pocket of her white coat. She gave the tray a disdainful glance, and pulled her skirt down.

“I’m going to go use your shower. Something about spending the rest of the day smelling like sex doesn’t seem...professional.”

Ruben had tucked himself back into his pants, and was buckling his belt. He smirked at her and nodded, walking over to his desk to continue his work as though nothing had happened.

  
  


Seeing Leslie was worse than seeing his file on Ruben’s desk. Clara refused to go into the STEM chamber. Seeing Ruben’s work in the lab was bad enough. But seeing Jimenez leading Leslie through the facility filled her with rage. Before she even had time to calm herself down, she’d marched up and blocked their path, glaring at Jimenez. Leslie smiled upon seeing her, dancing from foot to foot.

“Are you going to defy him now, Clara?” Jimenez snarled.

“This is wrong, and you know it is!”

“Don’t pretend to be so innocent in all of this! How many people have you done consultations on now? 12? 15?” Jimenez leaned towards her questioningly.

“You’re really going to give Leslie to him? Leslie is _your_ goddamn patient! You are responsible for his safety!”

“Oh, don’t try and pull your ethical hypocrisies on me! You’re just as guilty as I am now, Clara!”

Clara withdrew for a moment, his words hitting her hard. She _was_ guilty now. In her efforts to protect Ruben, she’d helped hurt _how_ many innocent people? Maybe she was just as much of a monster as the rest of them.

“At least I don’t go around stealing my colleague’s research, and publishing it under my name, because I’m too much of an arrogant, weak-minded shithead to discover anything worthwhile on my own.” She hissed.

Jimenez narrowed his eyes and pushed past her, Leslie watching her sadly. As he passed, she whispered to him, unable to meet his eye.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry…sorry…Doctor...Whiting…?”

She refused to look at him.

“Go home? Go...home?”

“Not yet, Leslie. Just calm down.” Jimenez said calmly, trying to keep Leslie soothed. 

Clara stormed off to the lab, ready to have a discussion with Ruben, but she found the lab empty. Hands shaking, she grabbed the nearest beaker and chucked it across the room, watching it shatter against the wall. Her chest heaved as she glared at the spot on the wall where the beaker had smashed. 

“Is there a problem, Dr. Whiting?”

She reeled on the voice, hatred building up within her. There he stood, _The Asshole in the Suit_ , cold and calculating as ever.

“Do you ever consider maybe you should put a limit on who he uses for his tests?” She spat.

“You’re angry about that Leslie boy.”

“He doesn’t deserve to go through this bullshit! Make Ruben find someone else!”

“What’s wrong, Dr. Whiting? Does your cunt not have the magical powers of persuasion you thought it did?” He walked past her, examining the room.

“You son of a bitch! _How dare you_?!”

“There’s no need for theatrics, doctor. You can act like your little relationship is a secret, but I assure you we’re a lot more privy to it than you think.”

He turned back to her, his eyes piercing her, his expression bored. She drew in a deep breath and let it out, briskly walking over to her desk and snatching up her coffee mug. She took a sip from it and set it down loudly, leaning forward on her desk.

“What do you want?” She snapped.

“I was hoping that you could provide me with some information. It would seem that we can no longer test STEM freely. There seems to be a...hiccup. Would you know anything about that?”

“Why would I? It’s not like I ever touch the damn thing.”

“Oh, I think you know very well what he did to it.” 

Clara remained silent, glaring down at her desk. She jumped as the man came up and slammed his hand down onto the desk, making intense, intimidating eye contact. She leaned away from him, watching him fearfully.

“I hope you understand, Dr. Whiting, that this project is very important for us. If this little _mishap_ isn’t fixed, I’m afraid we’re going to have to take matters into our own hands, and who knows what that might mean for your _lover boy_.”

He gave her one final, silent, prolonged stare and pushed away from the desk, walking to the door. Clara remained frozen in place, a lump in her throat, and tears welling in her eyes. 

“I’ll be sure to come back when he’s not so busy, so he can understand his position better. We’ll talk later, Dr. Whiting.”

Only when the door closed did she dare to turn around and look behind her. It was as she feared. Ruben was flying too close to the sun, and the sun wasn’t taking kindly to those wings he’d fashioned.

She tried to wait for him to come back to the lab, but he worked late into the night, and she eventually gave up. She’d tell him tomorrow.

  
  


Ruben had been working in the STEM chamber almost every single day for the past month. When Clara did see him, he hardly spoke to her, his eyes bloodshot and nervous. She’d reached for him one day, holding his hand, and he squeezed it tightly for a moment before releasing it and going back to work. She was worried about him, wondering if he’d slept at all, or when he’d eaten last. She hadn’t seen much of Leslie, either. He must have really been the piece Ruben had been looking for all this time.

She was slow to come in that morning. She wasn’t feeling well, and she knew it was likely due to how much she’d been neglecting her needs. She hadn’t been eating right, and her sleep habits were erratic. Before she even made it through the double doors, the guard stopped her and made a call over his earpiece. He refused to let her enter, and wouldn’t tell her why. Shortly after, two more guards came through the doors.

“Dr. Whiting, if you’ll come with us.” Said the taller of the two.

“What’s this about?” She asked, warily looking between them

“The Administrator has asked for you, ma’am.”

“Why’d he send an escort?”

“He’ll explain when you arrive.”

She hesitated, but walked with them through the doors. They took her up a staircase, and down a long, sterile corridor. The lights buzzed overhead, and made her stomach turn. At last they came to a door near the end of the hall and opened it. Clara stepped in cautiously, looking behind her fearfully as the guards closed the door. Turning back, she walked forward, taking note of the Administrator, standing by the glass windows on the far side of the room, gazing down with his hands behind his back. Approaching the windows, she looked down curiously. It was an operating theater. She looked between the table and the Administrator in confusion.

“What’s all this about?” She asked quietly.

“Are you prepped and ready for the procedure, Dr. Moreno?” He asked loudly.

“Yes, sir.” Came a voice from an overhead speaker.

“Bring him in.” Ordered the Administrator, his eyes never leaving the operating theater below.

Clara watched as a group in scrubs came in through the doors, wheeling in a gurney. Her eyes went wide with panic as she saw the scarred figure on the gurney. She frantically looked between the room and the Administrator. As the team moved Ruben’s still form to the operating table, the man in the suit calmly turned to her.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Clara demanded.

“I’m going to be very plain about this, Dr. Whiting. Mr. Victoriano refused to recalibrate STEM so we could use it without him. We have no choice but to use his brain-”

“WHAT?!”

He continued as though she hadn’t said anything. “To operate STEM. Now I’ll be more than happy to spare his life and let the two of you leave here, and live out whatever pitiful, sadistic fairy tale you want. All I need from you is how to reverse the calibration.”

“I don’t know how to reverse it!” She replied desperately.

“Dr. Moreno, proceed with the first amputation.”

Clara watched in horror as the surgeon below picked up an electric bone saw, and she grabbed the Administrator’s arm, tugging it frantically.

“Please. Please. I don’t know how he calibrated it. I swear. Don’t do this. Please.” She began sobbing as the bright bloom of blood entered the corner of her vision. “He’s a human being! You can’t do this to him!”

The Administrator watched her coldly, his expression unchanging. He turned his attention back to the theater. Clara stared at him pleadingly, her eyes begging him to show mercy.

“Proceed with the procedure as planned.” He said flatly.

“NO!”

The guards barred her from leaving the room, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her back to the observation windows. They dropped her to the floor, where she sat in a heap, sobbing weakly as the sound of the bone saw echoed from below.

“Maybe he’ll understand how his test subjects felt.” The Administrator commented dryly. “He’ll know what it’s like to get a taste of his own medicine.”

Clara choked, and slowly looked up, staring at Ruben blankly, realization creeping into her like a disease.

“No…” She slowly rose to her feet. “No, no, no, no, no.”

She sprang to her feet and was on the Administrator faster than the guards could react, slapping him in the face. 

“You fucking bastard! You used his own goddamn sedative on him!” 

The guards pulled her off of him, and he touched his face, his mouth turning into an annoyed grimace. He didn’t look at her, just continued to watch the scene below. The guards held her expectantly. 

“You should be grateful, Dr. Whiting. The way I see it, I’m doing you a favor.”

“Your orders, sir?” The taller guard asked.

“Dr. Whiting is an honored guest. Let her stay until the show’s over.”

“Yes, sir.”

They dragged her to face the window, and she fought against their holds, trying to get away from the view. She clenched her eyes shut and screamed, trying to block out the sound of the bone saw. Eventually she began heaving. The shorter of the guards pulled away from her hesitantly. She doubled over, expelling the contents of her stomach onto the floor. Both the guards stepped away from her in disgust, and the Administrator frowned at her in disappointment.

“I would have thought you’d have a stronger constitution than this, Dr. Whiting.” He sighed. “Take Dr. Whiting to her new quarters. I’m not going to stand here and suffer the sound of her retching.”

The guards carefully led her away as she wailed hysterically. Other employees stared at her as they passed, whispering among themselves. They eventually brought her to Ruben’s room, looking at each other awkwardly as they set her down on the bed. She curled into a ball, sobbing against the blanket, bunching her hands in it.

“We’ll uh...be locking the door. Someone will be in to check on you around noon.” The taller guard said.

“Dude, why did he make her watch? That’s fucked.” The shorter guard whispered as they left.

Clara buried her face in the blanket, breathing in Ruben’s scent. Her whole body ached. She cried until there were no more tears and her eyes burned. She contorted her body as the grief consumed her like a tidal wave. Furiously she began pounding her fist against the mattress.

“I told you! I told you, I told you, I told you! You stubborn idiot! Why did you have to do something so reckless?!”

The initial adrenaline wore off sometime later, and she stared at the wall blankly, her mouth open. She didn’t think anything could ever hurt this much. The smell of him on the bed filled her with a sort of emptiness. It was the knowledge that she could lay here forever and he’d never be there beside her again. It was a cold feeling. Worn out from so much exertion, she hugged his pillow tightly. She hoped it was all a horrible dream, and that she’d wake up in her bed, or Ruben’s bed at the estate, and he’d be there to tell her how ridiculous it all was.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she took it out, staring at the screen with bleary eyes.

**Missed Call**

**New Voicemail**

She unlocked her phone and brought up her voicemail, listening to it half-heartedly.

“Hi, Clara. This is Maria from Dr. Saunders’ office. I was just calling because you missed your appointment last month, and we wanted to call and check on you, to see if you wanted to reschedule, since you were due for your yearly consultation to get your birth control prescription renewed. Please give us a call back at your earliest convenience. Thanks!”

Clara pulled the phone from her ear, staring at it. She could have sworn she’d gone to that appointment. Didn’t she? How long had it been since she’d taken her pill?

_You’ve been out for a while, ol’ girl. Don’t you remember? It’s been **at least** two months. All the stress has addled your brains._

“Shit.” She sighed, running her hands over her face.

She stared up at the ceiling, her mind too tired to think anymore. She closed her eyes, and succumbed to the exhaustion flooding her body, falling into a deep sleep that was anything but restful.


	7. Part I. Dance of the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MOBIUS is growing impatient with Clara, and her lack of information, so the time has come to connect her to STEM.

“Clara? Clara, can you hear me?”

She lazily turned her head, her eyes cold. Jimenez pulled the chair from the desk and sat beside her. His face was gaunt, and his eyes betrayed a harrowed man.

“Clara, what they did to Ruben…”

“They murdered him.” She croaked, her throat dry from lack of use.

“I...yes. They did...and I’m sorry for that. If I had known they would…” He trailed off, wringing his hands. “Clara, did he explain anything about STEM to you?   
“I read about it in his notes. I understand how it works.” Her head lolled to the side and she stared at the wall.

“So he really told you nothing about the calibration?”

“He told me he was going to change it.”

“Why didn’t you say something to me?”

“You can’t be serious.” She turned her head back to him, her grey eyes boring into him maliciously. “What have you done that’s even remotely trustworthy, Marcelo? Ruben’s dead and, as far as I’m concerned, it’s  _ your _ fault.”

“So you’ve told them absolutely everything?” He asked bitterly.

Clara smiled nastily at him, and he sighed, standing up. Looking at an untouched food tray on the desk, he frowned at her.

“You should eat.”

“Fuck off. I’m not hungry.” She looked away from him again.

“Clara, you can’t just starve yourself-”

“I said  _ fuck off _ .”

Jimenez scowled at her and walked to the door, giving her a final concerned look before leaving. The door locked behind him. Clara gave a sideways glance to the chair he left beside her bed, and she absently kicked it, watching it clatter to the floor. Her stomach cramped in protest as another rush of aroma drifted over from the food on the desk. Wrinkling her nose, she crawled to the foot of the bed, huddling against the wall there, as though that would protect her somehow.

It had been two weeks since they’d cut Ruben into pieces. They’d only given her a day to grieve before they began daily interrogations, at 6 PM on the nose. The Administrator was so convinced that she was holding something back, and Clara had heard the same questions asked in at least 10 different ways. She wasn’t sure if they were ever going to release her. It didn’t seem likely. After all, she knew too much about them and their little pet project. She’d seen too much of the atrocities committed at the facility. She was a liability.

She wasn’t able to get a cell signal in the room. She wondered what was going on in the lives of the people outside her reach. She wondered about her former patients, and Janine. She wondered about Leslie, and the little cat she’d made friends with in the parking lot. She wondered about her parents, and even Joel. 

It wasn’t fair to say she hated her brother. She’d always wanted him to get cleaned up and lead a normal life. Joel was part of the reason she’d turned to psychology in the first place. She wanted to help people like Joel, who were suffering from afflictions they didn’t have control over. She always wondered how many people out in the world were considered to be embarrassments to their families because of things they couldn’t help.

She still wasn’t feeling well, though now she was  _ sure _ it was due to stress, eating habits, and her sleep pattern. She’d hardly ate since the operating theater, and only slept one to two hours a night. She never slept longer, due to the vivid nightmares that plagued her. After the night she dreamt that they had made her dismember Ruben herself, she began setting alarms. She wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating due to sleep deprivation or if her brain was trying to recreate sensations that it missed, but there were nights when she would wake up to the sensation of someone kissing her ear, or cheek, or neck. The first time it happened, she jumped to the floor, staring wild-eyed at the empty space on the bed until her heart stopped pounding in her ears. After that, she just ignored it, chalking it up to phantom sensations of a grieving mind.

Her eyes snapped to the door as it suddenly slammed open, a small formation of guards entering the room. Behind them walked the Administrator, his face placid as ever. Clara stared at them warily, scrambling off the bed and up against the wall. The suited man examined her with an arched brow, clasping his hands in front of him.

“Come to cut me up into pieces and discard me like garbage, too?” Clara spat resentfully.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dr. Whiting.” He spoke to her like he was speaking to a defiant child. It pissed her off. “No. We’ve run out of options at our immediate disposal, so now we’re turning to our last resort.”

“What are you talking about?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Ruvik has been rather troublesome for us. He’s been killing everyone we send into STEM. You, however, are our little ace-in-the-hole. Dr. Jimenez, up until now, has convinced us that you won’t be of any use, and that we should just leave you alone. Perhaps even let you go. However, I don’t think that’s true.”

He began walking toward her slowly, making her inch her way along the wall until she was cornered. He stood in front of her, staring down intently.

“I think you’re the golden ticket we need to get what we want from Ruvik.”

“Stop calling him that!” She breathed angrily, but her voice still trembled.

“You need to come back to reality, Dr. Whiting. That little sadist boyfriend of yours is gone. The only thing that’s left of him is a brain in a vat.”

She spit in his face. He blinked for a moment, and then reached up, wiping the glob of saliva away with disgust. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped it off his fingers. Scowling, he spoke to the guards behind him as he turned away from her.

“Take Dr. Whiting to the STEM chamber. She’s clearly going to be unreasonable, so do whatever is necessary.”

The guards moved in, and she shrunk away from them, pressing herself as much against the corner as she could. Two of them grabbed her arms, pulling her away from the wall. As she fought against them, a third walked up with a syringe, jabbing it into her arm and injecting the liquid inside. The guard stepped away and allowed the other two to begin dragging her from the room. Clara felt her head start to get a little fuzzy as she pulled against the guards. Every pull seemed to get weaker, and every minute seemed to make her float farther away, until eventually her eyes closed and the world went black. The next thing she remembered was a sharp, stabbing pain at the base of her skull.

  
  
  


“Clara…” Soft kisses fell on her eyelids and the tip of a nose trailed gently down her cheek. 

“It’s my day off…” She mumbled. 

A raspy voice chuckled in her ear, and another soft kiss was placed on her temple. She felt warm and safe, a solid heat against her chest. It was a feeling she hadn’t felt in so long. She couldn’t remember why. But it was a feeling that made her heart hurt. She didn’t know why that was, either. It was almost like homesickness. 

“Open your eyes, my love…”

Reluctantly, she cracked open her lids, squinting against the lamplight nearby. A figure loomed over her, shadows dancing across their face. At last her eyes focused and she found herself staring into half-lidded, silvery, yellowed eyes. Ruben smiled, cupping her cheek with one of his scarred hands. He was laid across her in a mixed posture of protection and the elated embrace of reunion, his body blocking her, but one arm wrapped around her. 

“I missed you.” He whispered. 

“I was just sleeping.” She murmured, rubbing her eyes. 

His face fell and he gently pulled her against him, cradling her head against his shoulder. She hummed contentedly, settling against him and closing her eyes again. She was more than happy to fall back asleep. Her heart still felt heavy, though the hurt was sharper now, like she’d picked the scab off a wound that was still healing. 

“You don’t know where you are, do you?” He mumbled. 

“Your bedroom.” She replied confidently. 

“This is only a memory of the bedroom. They’ve connected you to STEM…”

It all came back in a flood that made her clench onto the fabric of the white coat Ruben wore. The reality of everything that had taken place at the MOBIUS facility crashed into her mind like a ton of bricks. Ruben’s dismemberment, the countless interrogations, when they’d finally come into her room and cornered her like a wild animal, dragging her away to the STEM chamber, the sharp pain in her head. 

Ruben suddenly felt odd against her. It made her squirm. She found herself frantically scrambling backward to get away from the feel of him. She gasped as though discovering she’d touched something grotesque. 

“This isn’t real. You’re dead. I watched them cut you into pieces.” She babbled, her eyes filling with tears as she pulled herself up against the headboard. 

He brought himself up to his knees and carefully approached her, his eyes locked onto her as she scrambled closer against the head of the bed. The acrylic cranium over the right side of his brain peeked out from under his hood. Her hopes of everything being a horrible dream were completely dashed. She stared up at him with wide, fearful, confused eyes. 

“Do you understand what’s happening? Why I’m here?”

“He said something about your brain being in a vat...did they keep your brain alive?” Her brows knitted in thought and she searched his face. 

“They knew the only way to access STEM was with my brain waves.” He sat down, staring into her eyes as though it would connect them more thoroughly. “Do you know why they connected you to the system?”

“They’re convinced that I’ll be able to get something from you. Data, maybe? I don’t know.”

“Amusing. Do they really think you’ll betray me so easily?”

She didn’t answer. She was staring at him like he might disappear, like she wasn’t sure any of this was really happening. He reached out and took her hand, his fingers entwining with hers as he lifted it to his face. He kissed her wrist and gently pulled her into his lap, letting go of her hand to wrap his arms around her tightly. She clung to him desperately, fearfully. She felt like she might be ripped away from him, spiraling into the unknown of the void.

“I won’t let them have you.” He rumbled. “They should know better than to try and take what’s mine.”

“I thought I’d never see you again.” She whispered, her voice cracking.

He loosened his arms and pulled back just far enough to kiss her. He was slow to break the kiss, his lips gently parting from hers as he opened his eyes. When she looked up at him, her eyes were wide and confused. 

“This all feels so real. But…” She looked down thoughtfully, her eyes flitting. “I have to leave. This isn’t right.”

She jerked away from him and jumped off the bed, quickly leaving the room. As she hurried down the hall, he suddenly appeared before her, flickering into existence like the picture of an old television. She stumbled backwards as she nearly ran into him. Ruben made no motion to approach her, but stared at her with a bright, curious look. 

“You can’t leave, Clara. This isn’t a dream. This is  _ my _ world.”

She straightened suddenly, drawing in a sharp breath through her nose as she held her head up. 

“Ruben, I’m going home.” She said matter-of-factly. 

She walked past him, weaving her way through the hall. Ruben said nothing, standing still as a statue and listening to her pad away from him. Clara trotted down the steps of the foyer and marched to the front door, yanking them both open and stepping out into the cool air. 

Wind rustled through the trees, bringing the smell of rain along with it, as well as a creeping chill. A crow squawked from a nearby branch, being met with another call from one of its fellows somewhere nearby. The driveway was empty, the wind picking up small, dead leaves and tossing them about in little cyclones along the pavement. 

Clara looked around frantically, walking down the cold, stone steps and examining the surrounding yard. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her breathing became labored as she spun in desperate half-circles, searching for her car. One final hope remained. She jogged away from the house, passing through the gates with a final burst of speed, and came to an awkward halt, nearly tripping. 

No car. 

A piercing whine filled her ears and her mind, and she covered her ears in an attempt to drown it out, wrenching her eyes shut in agony. 

**_“She’s not adapting well, sir.”_ **

**_“Give her time. We’re just getting started.”_ **

“Hello?!” Clara called out, her voice echoing through the surrounding trees. 

No more voices echoed back to her, only the mournful cries of the crows. She was trying to keep from hyperventilating. The world felt like it was stretching away from her, a rivulet of water running down a windshield to separate from its original source. Her vision began swimming and soon she could no longer control her breathing. She began gasping for air as her vision tunneled. All the trees and the great stone pillars of the gate fell away around her, and she was plunged into darkness.

When her vision returned, it was as though she had merely closed her eyes for a few seconds. Like that brief period of blackness during a yawn or a sneeze. Looking around her, she was in a place that she knew well. It was a small conference hall at a convention center in Boston. The scene was familiar, too. It was towards the end of her internship, at the annual APA Convention. She’d given a presentation on her research, and was attending a small get-together that had been organized by her mentor. Everything was exactly as she remembered it, right down to the movements of the people.

“What does she hope to accomplish?” She turned around.

There they were. The same two people, conversing and staring at her with disapproving looks. Only she remembered them whispering when she had initially overheard them. Their voices were so loud now, like they were addressing the entire room.

“She’s just a young upstart who thinks she can make something of herself because Hal Loren decided to take her under his wing.”

“She’s never going to get anywhere with that research.”

Their voices were echoing from all around her now.

“What a waste of time.”

“Hal should cut his losses and find someone worthwhile.”

“I hear she’s trying to get her doctorate. Can you believe such a thing?”

“She’s planning on publishing her research.”

Then they began laughing. It was sonorous, and maddening, and Clara found herself trying to flee the room to get away from it. But the more people she pushed through, the more there seemed to appear. It seemed like an entire sea of people had materialized in that small room. After getting nowhere, she turned about frantically, trying to find another way out. But there wasn’t one. Those were the only doors.

“STOP IT!” She finally yelled, shutting her eyes, and covering her ears.

The room went silent. Slowly, she opened her eyes and took her hands from her ears. She was in her old childhood bedroom. Band posters lined the walls, and several trophies from dance competitions sat in the corner, collecting dust. Carefully, she walked through the door, stepping quietly down the carpeted hall, and looking up at the family pictures on the wall. Pictures from when her and Joel were little, pictures of her at Homecoming, a family portrait taken when she was a baby, her parents’ wedding pictures. When she arrived at the mezzanine overlooking the entry, she heard hushed voices from the living room.

She quietly snuck downstairs, and approached the archway, peeking around the corner. There sat her parents, sitting across from each other, looking beside themselves.

“I just don’t know how we’re going to do it, Moe.” Her mother said desperately. “We’re already paying for Joel’s apartment, and now Clara wants to go to some fancy university, and get a doctorate, just so she can tell people their brains are broken?”

“Calm down. We’ll figure this out. Clara’s a smart girl, and she knows her mind. If that’s what she wants to do, then we should support her.”

“I just can’t even imagine! What are people going to say when I tell them our daughter wants to become a shrink?”

“She doesn’t want to be a shrink. She wants to be a doctor and help people. She’s not trying to become Sigmund Freud for God’s sake.”

“Why couldn’t she be a nurse or something like that? This never would have happened if she hadn’t ruined her ankle!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Diane! It’s not like she did that on purpose!”

Clara retreated from the archway, slowly stepping backwards and sitting on the stairs. Her mother had always blamed her for her injury, saying she should have been more careful. Deep down, Clara wondered if she blamed the injury for her interest in psychology. To Diane Whiting, Clara’s ruined ankle was the ugly monster that had turned her sweet baby girl away from a simple life of Typical Womanhood and thrown her into a hellish spiral of delving into a S.T.E.M. field and studying. She knew what kind of person her mother had wanted her to be. She wanted a daughter who would attend church every Sunday and bake pies like a 50’s Nuclear family housewife. Her maternal grandparents had been very traditional, and her grandmother would have absolutely balked at the idea of her going into a science field. But Clara also thought her mother was a hypocrite. Her Aunt Rhonda told her stories about their ‘hippie days’ of protesting the war and dropping acid in the back of her boyfriend’s van before going to see Janis Joplin.

Clara stood up, and walked towards the front door. She opened it and stepped forwards, watching as the front yard where she’d played hide and seek and chased the family St. Bernard dissolved away. Great trees broke through the ground, tearing the lawn asunder, and splintering the fence at the end of the walk. As the decaying Victoriano estate replaced her neighbor’s yellow Victorian across the street, she drew in a shaky breath. The transformation was complete. She was back where she’d begun.

She screamed, her throat feeling tight and raw as she released all of the anguish, frustration, and fear inside of her. Holding her head, she allowed her knees to give way. But before she landed, Ruben was there to catch her. He appeared just as he had in the hallway, like from thin air. She fell heavily into his arms, and he held her tightly against his chest.

“Clara...Clara, look at me.” He said firmly.

She looked up at him, her eyes wild and wet with tears, her face flushed. He gently held her face in his hands and made sobering eye contact with her.

“You have to calm yourself. If you don’t, you’ll be lost to the system, and I can’t help you if that happens. Can you do that for me, my love?”

Her face contorted and she shook her head vigorously.

“Clara!” She stopped, the sudden sharpness in his voice startling her. “Listen to me. I know you’re afraid. I know your mind is struggling to comprehend this, but you have to remain calm.”

Keeping her eyes on his, she took slow, deep breaths until she’d calmed down. He nodded his approval as she steadied herself, and kissed her forehead.

“This is just…” She looked around helplessly. “It’s all fucked. How am I...how are you…?”

She growled in frustration and pushed away from him, throwing her hands in the air, and pacing.

“I can’t leave without a compatible vessel.” He replied, watching her calmly.

She paused and turned to him, her brow knitted. Studying him, she picked at the edge of her sleeve, and then turned to face the drive away from the estate. He slowly walked up behind her, his movements catlike. Running his hands up her arms, he began pressing delicate kisses along her neck that made her shiver.

“How do you intend to get such a thing?” She asked him in a half-whisper, thinking she already knew the answer.

“That boy. Leslie.”

“Ruben, no. Can’t you find someone else?”

“Do you know how long it has taken me to find him? To find someone with compatible brain waves? Out of the question. I don’t have that kind of time.”

Clara frowned uncomfortably, the full picture of what that meant setting in her mind. It unsettled her, and left a sour taste in her mouth. Pulling away from him, she began walking back to the manor, hugging herself and staring down at the ground. Ruben materialized next to her, matching her pace and watching her quietly.

“You’re upset.”

“You’re goddamn right I’m upset! What right is it of yours to take that boy’s life away from him?!”

“And what a life it is.”

Clara reeled on him, glaring. Ruben’s initial look of surprise faded into amusement.

“Regardless of his condition, he’s a person, and he has his own thoughts and wants.”

“Fine, Clara. I’ll play your little morality game. Do you really think he has any real quality of life, being locked away in a hospital, not being able to experience anything of normalcy? He’s a prisoner to his own disorders.”

She hesitated, her eyes narrowing. Ruben watched her patiently, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You’re a real asshole sometimes!” She snapped, turning on her heel and stomping inside, slamming the door for emphasis.

  
  
  
  


“Sir, it’s not letting me disconnect her from STEM.”

“What do you mean? Just unplug her.”

“We tried, sir. Several times. Her consciousness is remaining within the system.”

“Shit!” The Administrator hissed, slamming his fist on the desk.

He drummed his fingers as he stared at Clara’s comatose form in one of the STEM tubs. Another of the technicians approached him, carrying a file in her hand. She looked uncomfortably between him and Clara, frowning.

“Sir, there’s uh...another problem.”

She handed him the file, and he thumbed through it, his furrowed brow slowly raising.

“Get Dr. Jimenez in here.” He said slowly, reading the rest of the file.

  
  
  
  


She’d been listening to Ruben play the piano for what felt like hours. Occasionally she’d ask him the name of the song, and the composer, making a mental list of which ones she liked the best. Chopin’s second Nocturne was decidedly her favorite. She was still eyeing him warily, skirting around the room like a stray dog. Ruben largely ignored her, unless she spoke to him, his eyes focused on the keys.

At last, she came to sit beside him on the bench, watching his fingers move across the keys as he played. She sat with her shoulders slumped, glancing over at him guiltily. Gently, she placed her hand on his thigh. Ruben paused, his final note lingering in the air. He turned to look at her, his eyes lingering on her face before roaming the rest of her figure.

“I’m sorry I called you an asshole.” She grumbled, not looking at him. 

Ruben hummed, and turned back to the piano, starting back up where he’d left off. Clara sighed and looked at him with a frown. Leaning against him, she rested her head on his shoulder, staring at the piano as her thoughts drifted off.

“Do you not like being here with me?” Ruben’s voice snapped her from her reverie, making her shake her head.

“What?”

“You don’t seem happy, my love. I thought that being here with me would have made you happy. No responsibilities, nowhere to go, just the two of us.” He mused, continuing to play.

“I…” She stopped, thinking carefully over her words. “It’s not like I’m free to go if I wanted to get away. I can’t go home, I can’t go to work, I can’t go sit on the curb with the stray cat. None of the things that I usually had available to me are there. I’m as much of a prisoner as you are. Is anyone happy in confinement? Were you?”

He suddenly slammed his hands down on the keys, making her jump. She sat up, staring at him incredulously. His eyes were filled with anger as he stared at the keys with a roaring intensity. Suddenly he sighed, as if releasing everything, and ran his hand over his face. Clara reached out to him, and he smacked her hand away.

“You have no idea what it was like to be stuck in this house for all those years. I was isolated, I was alone, I didn’t have any of the love or support my sister gave me.”

Clara’s eyebrows slowly began knitting together, and she was about to speak when he began again.

“But then I had you. After all of those years of being alone with my thoughts, I finally had someone to share them with, even if it was only once a week. You were warm, and alive, and intelligent. You understood. You weren’t Laura, but you were close. Then I wanted more of you. Once a week wasn’t enough. I was greedy.”

He turned to her, looking down at her with a distant, wistful look. He played with a lock of her hair as she stared at him with eyes full of questions, that begged for him to go on. His eyes rolled up to meet hers, and her breath caught in her throat.

“You invaded my thoughts when you weren’t here. It was...maddening. I sought the pleasure I had never experienced, the pleasure I could never give myself on those nights where I couldn’t ignore the dreams of you that danced in my head.” His fingers trailed across her body, remembering some distant memory. “Then I had you and it was exquisite. You were mine after that, but I still remained alone in this damn house. But now we’re here...together, and when we get out of here, we’ll still be together. I know that frightens you, makes you uncomfortable, but it wasn’t my broken, scarred body you fell in love with, was it?”

Clara was quiet, her eyes wandering over his face. Her tongue felt heavy and useless in her mouth. She didn’t dare to swallow, for fear of swallowing the solid, leaden organ. The implications of Ruben leaving STEM still turned her stomach, but what he said was true. She was afraid to look away from him. His eyes always had a way of holding her, of pulling her in and making her listen. 

He reached up and cupped her cheeks, pressing his lips to hers in a delicate, sincere kiss. Clara didn’t move, her breathing short and shallow. Ruben released her, giving her a gentle smile before returning to playing the piano. Standing wordlessly, she began to leave the room, deciding to take a walk to try and clear her head.

“Oh, Clara?”

She paused in the doorway, turning back to him curiously.

“Don’t wander away from the house. It’s dangerous.”

She nodded slowly in response, walking morosely down the hall as the sounds of Satie echoed behind her.

  
  
  
  


“How could you let this happen? Didn’t you run tests on her before you connected her?” Jimenez snarled.

“There wasn’t time. We needed to connect her as soon as possible. It’s hard telling how much damage Ruvik is going to wreak within STEM. This is an unfortunate circumstance, but we can’t disconnect her.” The Administrator looked at him calmly.

“What the hell do you mean you can’t disconnect her?”

“Ruvik won’t allow her consciousness to return to her body. We don’t know how he’s doing it, but he’s locked her into STEM.”

“Well, we have to find a way to bring her back! We have no idea what kind of effects this could have on her health!”

“Patience, Dr. Jimenez. It’s under control. So long as nothing  _ unfortunate _ happens to her within STEM, we should be able to keep her in a comatose state. I’m assigning a few members of our medical team to her, to monitor her vitals. She might still be useful to us.”

_ End Part I _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I can get started on the in-game chapters! Thank you so much to those of you who have been sticking around for this mess. I appreciate each and every one of you!


End file.
